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PARSIFAL:    A    DRAMA    BY   WAGNER 
RETOLD  BY  OLIVER  HUCKEL 


BOOKS  BY  DR.   HUCKEL 
MENTAL  MEDICINE 

Some    practical   suggestions   from    a  spiritual 

standpoint 
(Cloth,  $1.00  net) 

THE  MELODY  OF  GOD'S  LOVE 

An  interpretation  of  the  Twenty-Third  Psalm 
(Cloth,  75  cts.  net) 

WAGNER'S  MUSIC  DRAMAS 

Retold  in  English  Verse 
PARSIFAL 
TANNHAUSER 
LOHENGRIN 
RHE1NGOLD 
WALKURE 

(Each,  cloth,  75  cent*  net) 

THOMAS    Y.   CROWELL  &   CO. 


A  -  MYSTICAL  •  DRAMA  •  BY  •  RICHARD 
WAGNER-RETOLD-IN-THE-SPIRIT-OF 
THE-BAYREUTH-INTERPRETATION-BY 


PUBLISHERS  •  NEW  •  YORK  •  MDCCCCX 


Copyright,  1903,  by  T.  Y.  Crowell  &  Co. 

Published  September,  1903 

Twentieth  Thousand 


Composition  and  plates  by  D.  B.  Updike 


M  L  5O; 
vv  I  ^  V-? 


Co  mp  (DQife 

IN  LOVING  MEMORY 
OF  BAYREUTH  DAYS 


CONTENTS 

Page 

FOREWORD  « 

PART  I 

The  Coming  of  Parsifal  3 

PART  II 

The  Tempting  of  Parsifal  33 

PART  III 

The  Crowning  of  Parsifal  55 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 
Parsifal  in  Quest  of  the  Holy  Grail     Frontispiece 
Monsalvat,  the  Castle  of  the  Grail         Facing  12 
The  Communion  of  the  Holy  Grail  22 

Parsifal  healing  King  Amfortas  58 

Parsifal  revealing  the  Holy  Grail  66 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  FRANZ  STASSEN 


FOREWORD  2**  #7 

H  E  Parsifal  of  Richard  Wag- 
ner was  not  only  the  last  and 
loftiest  work  of  his  genius, 
but  it  is  also  one  of  the  few 
great  dramas  of  modern 
times,— a  drama  which  un- 
folds striking  and  impres- 
sive spiritual  teachings.  In- 
deed, Parsifal  may  be  called  Richard  Wagner's 
great  confession  of  faith.  He  takes  the  legend 
of  the  Holy  Grail,  and  uses  it  to  portray  won- 
derfully and  thrillingly  the  Christian  truths  of 
the  beauty,  the  glory,  and  the  inspiring  power 
of  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  the  infinite  meaning 
of  the  redeeming  love  of  the  Cross.  He  reveals 
in  this  drama  by  poetry  and  music,  and  with  a 
marvellous  breadth  and  depth  of  spiritual  con- 
ception, this  theme  (in  his  own  words) :  "The 
founder  of  the  Christian  religion  was  not  wise : 
He  was  divine.  To  believe  in  Him  is  to  imitate 
Him  and  to  seek  union  with  Him. ...  In  conse- 
quence of  His  atoning  death,  everything  which 
lives  and  breathes  may  know  itself  redeemed. 
. . .  Only  love  rooted  in  sympathy  and  expressed 
in  action  to  the  point  of  a  complete  destruction 
of  self-will,  is  Christian  love."  (Wagner's  Let- 
ters, 1880,  pages  270,  365,  339.) 
The  criticism  has  sometimes  been  made  that 
the  basic  religious  idea  of  Parsifal  is  Buddhistic 
rather  than  Christian ;  that  it  is  taken  directly 
from  the  philosophy  of  Schopenhauer,  who  was 
perhaps  as  nearly  a  Buddhist  as  was  possible 
for  an  Occidental  mind  to  be ;  that  the  dominat- 

xi 


JFOt0;  ing  idea  in  Parsifal  is  compassion  as  the  essence 
tDO  tD  of  sanctity,  and  that  Wagner  has  merely  clothed 
this  fundamental  Buddhistic  idea  with  the  ex- 
ternals of  Christian  form  and  symbolism.  This 
criticism  is  ingenious.  It  may  also  suggest  that 
all  great  religions  in  their  essence  have  much 
which  is  akin.  But  no  one  who  reads  carefully 
Wagner's  own  letters  during  the  time  that  he 
was  brooding  over  his  Parsifal  can  doubt  that  he 
was  trying  in  this  drama  to  express  in  broadest 
and  deepest  way  the  essentials  of  Christian 
truth.  Christianity  has  no  need  to  go  to  Buddh- 
ism to  find  such  a  fundamental  conception  as 
that  of  an  infinite  compassion  as  a  revelation 
of  God. 

The  legend  of  the  Grail,  as  Wagner  uses  it,  has 
in  it  the  usual  accompaniments  of  mediaeval 
tradition,  —  something  of  paganism  and  magic. 
But  these  pagan  elements  are  only  contrasts 
to  the  purity  and  splendor  of  the  simple  Chris- 
tian truth  portrayed.  The  drama  suggests  the 
early  miracle  and  mystery  plays  of  the  Christian 
Church ;  but  more  nearly,  perhaps,  it  reminds 
one  of  those  great  religious  dramas,  scenic  and 
musical,  which  were  given  at  night  at  Eleusis, 
near  Athens,  in  the  temple  of  the  Mysteries,  be- 
fore the  initiated  ones  among  the  Greeks  in  the 
days  of  Pericles  and  Plato.  Here  at  Bayreuth 
the  mystic  drama  is  given  before  its  thousands 
of  devout  pilgrims  and  music-lovers  who  gather 
to  the  little  town  as  to  a  sacred  spot  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  —  from  Russia,  Italy,  France, 
England,  and  America,  —  and  who  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  this  noble  drama  and  feast  of  music 
xii 


as  if  it  were  a  religious  festival  in  a  temple  of  Jf0tCs 
divine  mysteries.  tPOtD 

The  sources  of  Wagner's  story  deserve  a  few 
words.  The  legend  of  the  Holy  Grail  took  many 
forms  during  the  Middle  Ages.  It  was  told  in 
slightly  varying  way  in  the  twelfth  century 
by  the  French  writers  Robert  de  Borron  and 
Chrestien  deTroyes,  and  in  the  early  thirteenth 
century  by  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  in  the 
strong  German  speech  of  Thuringia.  The  sub- 
stance of  these  legends  was  that  the  precious 
cup,  used  for  the  wine  at  the  Last  Supper,  and 
also  used  to  receive  the  Saviour's  blood  at  the 
Cross,  was  forever  after  cherished  as  the  Holy 
Grail.  It  was  carried  from  the  Holy  Land  by 
Joseph  of  Arimatheaand  taken  first  toGaul  and 
later  to  Spain  to  a  special  sanctuary  among  the 
mountains,  which  was  named  Monsalvat.  Here 
it  was  to  be  cherished  and  guarded  by  a  holy 
band  of  Knights  of  the  Grail.  The  same  legend 
appears  in  the  chronicles  of  SirThomas  Malory, 
but  instead  of  Gaul,  early  Britain  is  the  place 
to  which  the  Grail  is  brought.  Tennyson's  "The 
Holy  Grail"  in  his  Idylls  of  the  King  largely 
follows  Sir  Thomas  Malory's  chronicles.  The 
American  artist  Edwin  A.  Abbey  in  his  mas- 
terly paintings  of  the  Grail  legend  as  portrayed 
on  the  walls  of  the  Boston  Public  Library,  also 
follows  Malory.  Wagner,  however,  uses  the 
version  of  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  modify- 
ing it  and  spiritualizing  it  to  suit  his  purposes. 
The  German  artist  Franz  Stassen,  from  whom 
our  illustrations  are  taken,  has  entered  with 
perfect  appreciation  into  Wagner's  version  of 
the  noble  legend.  xiii 


J70t£;  The  following  rendering  of  the  Parsifal  is  not  a 
tDOCD  cl°se  translation  of  the  text,  but  rather  a  trans- 
fusion of  the  spirit.  It  is  possibly  as  nearly  a  trans- 
lation as  Fitzgerald's  rendition  of  Omar  Khay- 
yam, or  Macpherson's  version  of  the  poems  of 
Ossian.  It  is  what  may  be  called  a  free  render- 
ing, aiming  to  give  the  spirit  rather  than  the  lan- 
guage of  the  original. 

The  mere  translations  of  the  words  of  Parsifal, 
as  given  in  the  English  texts  of  H .  and  F.  Corder 
and  M.  H.  Glyn,  do  not  adequately  represent  the 
full  value  of  the  drama.  Those  versions  were  un- 
der the  necessity  of  a  strictly  literal  translation, 
which  was  further  hampered  in  order  to  make 
the  English  words  fit  the  music,  and  the  result 
was  far  from  satisfactory.  The  literal  transla- 
tion also  unfortunately  over-emphasizes  cer- 
tain parts  and  phrases  in  the  drama  which  are 
somewhat  harsh,  but  which  at  Bayreuth  become 
much  modified  and  refined,  and  are,  therefore, 
so  represented  in  this  version. 
The  present  telling  of  the  story  will  be  found 
to  use  all  that  Wagner  has  given  in  the  words, 
but  with  the  addition  here  and  thereof  interpre- 
tative phrases,  suggested  by  the  drama  itself  at 
Bayreuth.  Its  purpose  is  to  give  an  interpreta- 
tion, a  cumulative  impression,  the  spirit  of  the 
words,  music,  and  mystic  meaning,  blended  to- 
gether into  one  story  and  picture.  It  is  made 
after  a  very  careful  study  of  the  German  text 
of  Wagner  for  essential  meanings,  and  after  an 
appreciative  hearing  of  the  great  drama  itself, 
on  two  occasions,  at  Bayreuth.  We  present  it 
in  the  form  in  which  such  sacred  legends  seem 
xiv 


to  find  their  most  natural  English  setting,  —  in  jT0t0: 
the  form  made  classic  in  Tennyson's  Idylls  of  ttJOtD 
the  King. 

It  may  also  be  interesting  to  note  that  the  pres- 
ent version  was  planned  ten  years  ago  on  a 
first  visit  to  Bayreuth.  Critical  work  on  the  Ger- 
man text  and  in  the  literature  of  the  Parsifal 
legends  was  done  later  during  two  years  at  the 
universities  of  Berlin  and  Oxford.  But  the  ac- 
tual work  of  this  translation  and  interpretation 
was  done  in  the  summer  of  1902  at  Bayreuth, 
and  in  part  at  Nuremberg  and  Munich.  It  may 
also  be  stated  that  this  version  is  issued  with 
the  kind  permission  of  Messrs.  Schott  and  Com- 
pany of  London,  the  owners  of  the  copyright  of 
Wagner's  words  and  music. 
The  music  of  Parsifal  has  been  so  often  de- 
scribed and  analyzed  in  critical  papers  that  it 
is  not  necessary  here  to  speak  of  it  in  detail. 
This  word,  however,  may  be  in  place.  The  mar- 
vellous music  at  Bayreuth  helped  in  every  way 
in  the  interpretation  of  the  drama.  Every  part 
and  phase  of  the  thought  and  movement  were 
brought  forth  in  the  various  musical  motives, 
adding  emphasis  and  beauty  and  intensity  of 
feeling.  Now  the  music  would  whisper  of  the 
wondrous  grace  of  the  holy  sacrament,  or  of 
the  sweet  beauty  of  God's  world,  clothed  in  the 
radiance  of  Good  Friday;  now  it  would  reveal 
the  sorrows  of  the  gentle  Herzeleide,  or  the 
awful  anguish  of  Amfortas,  or  the  deep  rum- 
blings of  Klingsor's  black  art,  or  the  fascinat- 
ing music  of  the  flower-maidens.  Often  came 
the  pure  tones  that  told  of  the  guileless  One, 

xv 


j?0t0;  or  the  strong  chords  of  mighty  faith,  or  the  ebb 
and  swell  of  mystic  bells,  or  the  glory  of  the 
sacred  Spear.  Now  came  the  regal  blasts  for 
Parsifal,  and  often  and  through  it  all,  the  splen- 
did music  of  the  Grail  itself.  The  music  was  like 
a  fragrant  atmosphere  to  the  drama,  softening 
and  refining  what  was  harsh,  giving  a  needed 
stress  here  and  there,  and  investing  the  whole 
story  with  a  subtle  and  uplifting  charm. 
The  drama  of  Parsifal  teaches  its  own  great  les- 
sons of  life.  Yet  one  or  two  suggestions  of  inter- 
pretation may  not  be  amiss,  for  it  is  confessedly 
one  of  the  most  mystical  of  modern  dramas.  It 
may  perchance  be  considered  as  representing 
the  strife  between  paganism  and  Christianity  in 
the  early  centuries  of  the  Church,  —the  powers 
of  magic  and  the  hot  passions  of  the  human 
heart  contending  against  the  advancing  power 
of  Christian  truth  and  the  victorious  might  of 
Purity  as  portrayed  in  the  guileless  hero.  Or  it 
may  be  considered  as  representing  in  a  mystic 
legend  the  spiritual  history  of  Christ  coming  in 
later  presence  among  the  sons  of  men  and  im- 
aged in  the  mystic  Parsifal.  Wagner  mentions 
that  this  Scripture  was  often  in  his  mind  when 
writing  Parsifal  —  "  Hath  not  God  made  foolish 
the  wisdom  of  this  world  ?The  foolishness  of  God 
is  wiser  than  men ;  and  the  weakness  of  God  is 
stronger  than  men."  Or  this,  further,  it  may  rep- 
resent, in  striking  and  inspiring  way, —that  the 
pure  in  heart  shall  win  the  victories  in  life ;  that 
the  guileless  are  the  valiant  sons  of  God ;  that 
the  heart  that  resists  evil  passion  and  is  touched 
by  pity  for  the  world's  woe  is  the  heart  that  re- 
xvi 


incarnates  the  passionate  purity  of  the  Christ  J?0t0; 
and  can  reveal  again  the  healing  power,  the  tUOtD 
Holy  Grail  of  God. 

Those  who  desire  to  study  further  the  mystical 
and  spiritual  meanings  will  find  much  helpful 
suggestion  in  such  books  as  The  Argument  and 
Mystery  of  Parsifal,  by  Charles  T.  Gatty,  F.  S.  A. 
(London) ;  A  Study  of  Parsifal,  by  Alfred  Gur- 
ney,  M.  A.  (London);  Parsifal,— the  Finding 
of  Christ  through  Art,  by  A.  R.  Parsons  (New 
York) ;  or  My  Musical  Memories,  by  Rev.  H.  R. 
Haweis  (chapter  on  "Parsifal"). 
It  may  be  some  time  before  the  real  Parsifal  as 
given  at  Bayreuth  is  fully  appreciated  by  the 
English-speaking  public,  although  shortly  the 
special  conditions  which  have  hitherto  reserved 
its  production  to  Bayreuth  alone  will  be  re- 
leased, and  the  great  drama  will  be  heard  in 
other  musical  centres.  This  version  is  intended 
to  be  a  vivid  reminder  of  the  drama  to  those 
who  have  seen  it  at  Bayreuth,  and  also  to  give 
to  those  who  have  not  seen  it  a  fuller  glimpse  of 
the  majestic  story  than  has  hitherto  been  pos- 
sible to  find  in  English.  The  genius  of  Wagner 
as  a  musician  has  so  far  overshadowed  all  else, 
that  his  genius  as  a  poet  and  as  an  exquisite 
reteller  of  the  old  legends  has  not  been  fully 
appreciated. 

Galahad,  as  Tennyson  portrays  him,  will  always 
hold  the  first  place  with  English  readers  as  the 
ideal  knight  of  the  Holy  Grail.  The  matchless 
diction  of  Tennyson  has  given  the  less  perfect 
form  of  the  legend  a  supreme  charm  and  beauty. 
But  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach's  Parsifal,  as 

xvii 


JFOtC1  spiritualized  and  humanized  in  Wagner's  lyric 
tUOtD  drama,  will  be  seen  to  be  in  fuller  accord  with 
the  whole  cycle  and  development  of  the  Grail 
legends,  and  at  the  same  time  gives  the  nobler 
story.  It  is  a  consummate  parable  of  the  con- 
tending passions  and  the  heavenly  aspiration, 
the  ineffable  pity  and  the  mystic  glory,  of  the 
human  heart.  It  portrays  an  intensely  human 
and  heroic  life,  imaginatively  identified  with  that 
of  the  very  Christ. 

"However  mediaeval  the  language  and  symbol- 
ism of  Parsifal  may  be,"  says  a  modern  critic, 
"one  cannot  but  acknowledge  the  simplicity 
and  power  of  the  story.  Its  spiritual  significance 
is  universal.  Whatever  more  it  may  mean,  we 
see  clearly  that  the  guileless  knight  is  Purity, 
Kundry  is  the  Wickedness  of  the  world  ex- 
pressed in  its  most  enticing  form,  and  King 
Amfortas  suffering  with  his  open  wound  is  Hu- 
manity. One  cannot  read  the  drama  without  a 
thrill,  without  a  clutching  at  the  heart,  at  its 
marvellous  meaning,  its  uplifting  and  ennobling 
lessons." 

O.  H. 

Baltimore,  Maryland,  January  7th,  1903. 


PARSIFAL.  PART  I 


THE  COMING  OF  PARSIFAL 

ITHIN  a  noble  stretch  of 

mountain  woods, 
Primeval  forest,  deep  and 

dark  and  grand, 
There  rose  a  glorious  cas- 
tle towering  high,  — 
And  at  its  foot  a  smiling, 

shimmering  lake 
Lay  in  the  still  lap  of  a  verdant  glade. 
'T  was  daybreak,  and  the  arrows  of  the  dawn 
Were  shot  in  golden  glory  through  the  trees, 
And  from  the  castle  came  a  trumpet  blast 
To  waken  life  in  all  the  slumbering  host,  — 
Warriors  and  yeomen  in  the  castle  halls. 

And  at  the  trumpet  Gurnemanz  rose  up,  — 
Ancient  and  faithful  servant  of  the  Grail,  — 
Who  sleeping  lay  under  a  spreading  oak, 
And  called  aloud  to  two  youths  sleeping  yet: 
"  Hey !  ho !  ye  foresters,  loving  the  woods, 
Loving  your  sleep  as  well.  Wake  with  the  day ! 
Hear  ye  the  trumpet !  Come,  let  us  thank  God 
That  we  have  power  to  hear  the  call  of  life, 
And  power  to  answer  as  the  duty  calls!" 
And  up  they  started,  knelt  in  prayer  with  him, 
And  offered  unto  God  their  morning  praise. 

Then  Gurnemanz : "  Up  now,  my  gallantyouths, 
Prepare  the  royal  bath,  and  wait  the  King ! . . . 
Behold,  his  litter  now  is  coming  forth, 
I  see  the  heralds  coming  on  before.  . . . 
Hail,  royal  heralds !  Hail  and  welcome  both ! 
How  fares  my  Lord  Amfortas'  health  to-day? 

3 


^Tf)C  I  hope  his  early  coming  to  the  bath 

Coming   Doth  presage  nothing  worse.  I  fain  had  thought 
pf  The  healing  herb  that  Sir  Gawain  had  found 

With  wisest  skill  and  bravest  deed  might  bring 
Some  quick  and  sure  relief  unto  the  King." 

To  whom  the  herald-knight  did  make  reply : 
"Thou    knowest   all    of   this   dread    secret 

wound,  — - 

The  shame,  the  sorrow,  and  the  depth  of  it, 
Its  evil  cause  and  the  dark  curse  upon  it,  — 
And  yet  forsooth  thou  seemest  still  to  hope? . . . 
The  healing  herb  no  soothing  brought,  nor 

peace. 

All  night  the  sleepless  King  has  tossed  in  pain, 
Longing  for  morning  and  the  cooling  bath." 

Then  Gurnemanz,  downcast  and  saddened, 

said: 

"Yea,  it  is  useless,  hoping  thus  to  ease 
The  pain  unless  we  use  the  one  sure  cure,— 
Naught  else  avails  although  we  search  the 

world. 

Only  one  healer  and  one  healing  thing 
Can  staunch  the  gaping  wound  and  save  the 

King." 

And  eagerly  the  herald  asked:  "What  cure  is 

this, 
And  who  the  healer  that  can  save  the  King?" 

But  Gurnemanz  quick  answered:  "See  the 

bath 
Is  needing  thee,  for  here  doth  come  the  King!" 


But  as  he  spake,  e'er  yet  the  King  appeared, 
Another  herald,  looking  far  away, 
Beheld  a  woman  coming,  riding  wild, 
Andquick  exclaimed:  "See  there,  a  flying  witch! 
Ha!  how  the  devil's  mare  is  racing  fast 
With  madly  flying  mane !  Nearer  she  comes ! . . . 
T  is  Kundry,  wretched  Kundry,  mad  old  Kun- 
dry— 
Perhaps  she  brings  us  urgent  news?  Who 

knows? 

The  mare  is  staggering  with  weariness,  — 
No  wonder,  for  its  flight  was  through  the  air,  — 
But  now  it  nears  the  ground,  and  seems  to 

brush 
The  moss  with  sweeping  mane.  And  now,  look 

ye! 

The  wild  witch  flings  herself  from  off  the  mare 
And  rushes  toward  us!" 

And  Kundry  came, 

Her  dark  eyes  flashing  wildly,  piercing  bright; 
Her  black  hair  loose ;  her  rude  garb  looser  still, 
Yet  partly  bound  with  glittering  skins  of 

snakes; 

And  panting,  staggering  ran  to  Gurnemanz, 
And  thrust  into  his  hands  a  crystal  flask 
With  the  scant  whisper,  "Balsam— for  the 

King!" 
And  on  his  asking,  "Whence  this  healing 

balm?" 
She  answered:  "Farther  than  thy  thought  can 

guess. 

For  if  this  balsam  fail,  then  Araby 
Hath  nothing  further  for  the  King's  relief. 
Ask  me  no  further.  I  am  weak  and  worn." 


And  now  the  litter  of  the  King  drew  near, 
Attended  by  a  retinue  of  knights. 
Of  High  on  the  couch  the  King  Amfortas  lay, 

***s  Pa^e  ^ace  ^nec*  with  suffering  and  care; 
And  looking  toward  the  King,  then  Gu  rnemanz 
Spake  with  his  own  sad  heart:  "He  comes, 

my  King,— 

A  helpless  burden  to  his  servitors. 
Alas,  alas !  That  these  mine  eyes  should  see 
The  sovereign  of  a  strong  and  noble  race, 
Now  in  the  very  flower  and  prime  of  life, 
Brought  low,  and  made  a  bounden  slave 
Unto  a  shameful  and  a  stubborn  sickness ! . .  . 
Ye  servitors,  be  careful  of  this  couch ! 
Careful!  Set  down  the  litter  tenderly! 
I  hear  the  King,  our  Master,  groan  in  pain." 

Then  they  set  down  the  couch,  and  soon  the 

King, 

Raising  himself  a  little,  spake  to  them : 
"My  loving  thanks,  sir  knights.  Rest  here 

awhile. 
How  sweet  this  morning  and  these  fragrant 

woods 

To  one  who  tossed  the  weary  night  in  pain. 
And  this  pure  lake  with  all  its  freshening  waves 
Will  lighten  pain  and  brighten  my  dark  woe. 
Where  is  my  dear  Gawain?" 

And  one  spake  up : 

"My  Lord  Gawain  has  hasted  quick  away. 
For  when  the  healing  herb  that  he  had  brought 
After  such  daring  toils,  did  disappoint, 
Then  he  set  forth  upon  another  quest" 


Then  said  the  King:  "Without  our  word? 
Alas  that  he  should  go  on  useless  quests 
And  seem  to  do  despite  unto  the  Grail! 
For  it  is  ordered  by  divine  command 
That  I  should  suffer  for  my  grievous  sin, 
And  naught  can  help  me  but  one  single  thing. 

0  woe,  if  in  his  far-off  quests  for  me 

He  is  ensnared  by  Klingsor's  hateful  arts! 

1  pray  you,  sirs,  venture  no  more  for  me,  — 

It  only  breaks  my  peace,  and  grieves  my  heart 
Naught  will  avail.  I  only  wait  for  Him,  — 
'By  pity  'lightened.'  Was  not  this  the  word?" 

And  Gurnemanz:  "So  thou  hast  said  to  us." 

And  softly  yet  spake  on  the  suffering  King: 
"'The  guileless  One.'  Methinks  I  know  him 

now! 
His  name  is  Death,  for  only  Death  can  free 

me!" 

Then  Gurnemanz  to  ease  the   King's  sad 

thoughts 
Held  forth  the  crystal  flask  with  soothing 

words: 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  King.  Essay  once  more  a  cure,  — 
A  balsam  brought  for  thee  from  Araby." 

And  the  King  asked:  "Whence  came  this  bal- 
sam flask, 

So  strange  in  form,  and  who  has  brought  it 
here?" 

And  Gurnemanz:  "There  lies  the  woman  now! 
The  wild-eyed  Kundry,  weak  and  weary-worn, 

7 


As  if  the  journey  sapped  her  very  life.  .  . . 
^P'  Kundry!  Here's  his  majesty  the  King!" 

But  Kundry  would  not  rise,  or  could  not  else. 

Then  spake  the  King:  "O  Kundry,  restless, 

strange, 

Am  I  again  thy  debtor  for  such  help? 
Yet  I  will  try  thy  balsam  for  my  wound, 
And  for  thy  service  take  my  grateful  thanks." 

But  Kundry  muttered :  "Give  no  thanks  to  me. 
What  will  it  help,  — or  this,  or  e'en  the  bath? 
And  yet,  away,  I  say!  On  to  the  bath!" 
Then  the  King  left  her,  lying  on  the  ground, 
And  off  he  moved  upon  the  couch  of  pain, 
Longing  to  bathe  him  in  the  shining  lake, 
Hoping  against  all  hope  to  ease  his  soul, 
And  quiet  in  his  body  the  fierce  pains. 

And  one  spake  up:  "Why  lies  that  woman 

there,  — 

A  foul  and  snarling  thing  on  holy  ground? 
Methinks  her  healing  balm  is  witching  drug 
To  work  a  further  poison  in  the  King.  .  .  . 
She  hates  us!  See  her  now!  How  hellishly 
She  looks  at  us  with  hot  and  spiteful  eyes ! 
She  is  a  heathen  witch  and  sorceress!" 

But  Gurnemanz,  who  knew  her  well,  replied : 
"What  harm  has  ever  come  to  you  from  her? 
And  oft  she  serves  us  in  the  kindliest  ways. 
For  when  we  want  a  messenger  to  send 
To  distant  lands  where  warrior-knights  in  fight 
Are  serving  God,  she  quick  takes  up  the  task ; 
8 


Before  you  scarcely  know  is  gone  and  back. 

A  marvel  is  her  wondrous  speed  of  flight. 

Nor  does  she  ask  your  help  at  any  time, 

Nor  tire  you  with  her  presence,  nor  her  words.  lg)argtfal 

But  in  the  hour  of  danger,  she  is  near,— 

Inspiring  by  her  brave  and  fiery  zeal, 

Nor  asking  of  you  all  one  word  of  thanks. 

Methinks  a  curse  may  still  be  on  her  life, — 

She  is  so  wild  and  strange,  so  sad  her  very  eyes. 

But  now,  whate'er  the  past,  she  is  with  us, 

And  serves  us  to  atone  for  earlier  guilt. 

Perchance  her  work  may  shrive  her  of  her  sins. 

Surely  she  does  full  well  to  serve  us  well, 

And  in  the  serving  help  herself  and  us." 

Then  spake  again  a  knight:  "Perchance  her 

guilt 
It  was,  that  brought  calamity  on  all  our  land." 

But  Gurnemanz :  "  My  thought  of  her  goes  far 
In  memory  to  days  and  years  long  past. 
And  it  was  always  when  she  was  away 
And  we  alone,  that  sudden  mishap  fell. 
This  I  have  seen  through  many,  many  years. 
The  aged  King,  our  Titurel  beloved, 
He  knew  her  well  for  many  years  beyond. 
'T  was  he  who  found  her  sleeping  in  these  woods, 
All  stiff  and  rigid,  pale  and  seeming  dead, 
When  he  was  building  yonder  castle-towers. 
And  so  did  I  myself,  in  recent  days, 
Find  her  asleep  and  rigid  in  the  woods,  — 
'T  was  when  calamity  on  us  had  come 
So  evil  and  so  shameful  from  our  foe,  — 
That  dread  magician  of  the  mountain  heights. 


Say,  Kundry,  wake  and  answer  me  this  word? 
Where  hadst  thou  been  in  those  dark  evil 

days,- 

^  home,  a^ar>  awa-ke  or  fast  asleep,— 
When  our  good  King  did  lose  the  holy  Spear? 
v     Why  were  you  not  at  hand  to  give  us  help?" 

And  Kundry  muttered:  "Never  do  I  help!" 
Then  said  a  knight:  "O  brother  Gurnemanz, 
If  she  is  now  so  true  in  serving  us, 
And  if  she  does  such  strange  and  wondrous 

deeds, 

Then  send  her  for  the  missing  holy  Spear 
For  which  the  King  and  all  the  land  are  fain." 

But  Gurnemanz  with  gloomy  looks  replied : 
"That  were  a  quest  beyond  her,  beyond  all  — 
That  lies  within  the  guarded  will  of  God. 
O  how  my  heart  leaps  up  in  memory 
I  Of  that  blest  symbol  of  the  Saviour's  power ! 

0  wounding,  healing,  wonder-working  Spear, 
Companion  of  the  Grail  in  grace  divine, 

A  radiant  shaft  for  consecrated  hands. 
What  saw  I?  Hands  unholy  snatched  thee  up, 
And  sought  to  wield  thee  in  unholy  ways. 

1  see  it  all  again,  —  that  dark  and  fatal  day 
When  our  good  King  Amfortas,  all  too  bold, 
Forgetful  of  the  evil  in  the  world, 

Went  straying  far  out  from  the  castle  walls, 
And  loitered  through  the  green  and  shady 

woods ; 

And  there  he  met  a  woman  passing  fair, 
With  great  eyes  that  bewitched  him  with  their 

light, 

10 


And  as  he  stayed  and  lost  his  heart  to  her, 
He  lost  the  Spear.  For  on  a  sudden  came 
Athwart  them  that  foul-hearted,  fallen  knight, 
The  evil-minded  Klingsor,  and  he  snatched 
The  holy  Spear  and  mocking  rushed  away. 
Then  broke  an  awful  cry  from  the  King's  lips;' 
I  heard  and  hurrying  fought  the  evil  knight, 
As  did  the  King,  parrying  blow  on  blow, 
And  at  the  last  the  King  fell  wounded  sore 
By  that  same  Spear  that  once  was  holy  health. 
This  is  the  fatal  wound  that  burns  his  side,— 
This  wound  it  is  that  ne'er  will  close  again." 

And  when  the  knights  asked  further  of  the  deed 
And  what  of  Klingsor,  the  foul-hearted  knight, 
Then  Gurnemanz  sat  down  and  told  this  tale,  — 
The  four  young  knights  ensconced  around  his 

feet,  - 

"Our  holy  Titurel  knew  Klingsor  well. 
For  in  the  ancient  days  when  savage  foes 
Distressed  the  kingdom  with  their  heathen 

craft, 

One  mystic  midnight  came  a  messenger 
Of  God  to  Titurel,  and  gave  to  him 
The  Holy  Grail,  the  vessel  lustrous  pure, 
Wherein  the  crimson  wine  blushed  rosy-red 
At  that  Last  Supper  of  the  feast  of  love ; 
Wherein  the  later  wine  of  His  own  blood 
Was  caught  and  cherished  from  the  cruel  Cross. 
This  gave  the  angel  unto  holy  Titurel 
And  with  it  gave  the  radiant  sacred  Spear 
That  pierced  the  side  and  broke  the  suffering 

heart 
Of  Him,  our  heavenly  Saviour  on  the  Cross, 

ii 


So  that  the  water  and  the  blood  flowed  forth 
In  mingled  tide, —  the  sacrifice  of  love. 
0f          "  And  for  these  precious  witnesses  of  God 

hat  told  to  men  of  saving  health  and  power, 
The  holy  Titurel  did  build  an  holy  house,  — 
A  sanctuary-stronghold  on  the  heights 
Of  Monsalvat,  forever  given  to  God. 
And  ye,  blest  servants  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
Ye  know  the  sacred  ways  by  which  ye  came 
Into  this  holy  service.  Ye  gave  all 
And  purified  your  lives  and  hearts  to  God. 
And  with  the  consecration  came  the  power, 
By  vision  of  the  Grail,  to  do  high  deeds 
And  live  the  life  of  warriors  of  God. 
This  Klingsor  came  to  holy  Titurel 
And  asked  to  come  into  the  company. 
Long  had  he  lived  in  yonder  heathen  vale 
Alone,  and  shunned  by  all  his  kind. 
I  never  knew  what  sin  had  stained  his  heart, 
Or  why  he  sought  the  castle  of  the  Grail ; 
But  holy  Titurel  discerned  his  heart 
And  saw  the  festering  evil  of  his  life, 
And  knew  unholy  purpose  filled  his  soul 
And  steadfastly  refused  him  at  the  gates. 
Whereat  in  wrath  the  evil  Klingsor  swore 
That  if  he  could  not  serve  the  Holy  Grail, 
The  Holy  Grail  should  serve  him  by  its  power; 
And  he  would  seize  it  in  his  own  right  hand, 
And  some  day  be  the  master  of  them  all. 
Henceforth  he  waged  a  subtle,  ceaseless  war 
Against  Monsalvat  and  the  holy  knights. 
He  gave  himself  to  dark  and  evil  life 
And  learned  the  witchery  of  magic  arts 
To  work  the  ruin  of  the  Holy  Grail. 

12 


Fair  gardens  he  created  by  his  art, 
Through  all  the  deserts,  and  therein  he  placed 
Maidens  of  winsome  witchery  and  power, 
Who  bloomed  like  flowers  in  beauty  and  in 

grace. 

And  in  these  subtle  snares  full  many  a  knight 
Was  caught  by  magic  wiles  and  lured  and  lost, 
knd  no  one  knew  where  they  had  gone  or  why. 
Then  holy  Titurel,  grown  old  in  years, 
Gave  up  the  kingdom  to  his  only  son, 
The  brave  Amfortas.  And  by  ceaseless  quest 
Amfortas  learned  the  truth  and  waged  fierce 

war 

Against  this  Klingsor,  evil  to  the  heart, 
Until  at  last  in  one  unguarded  moment, 
As  I  have  told  you,  e'en  our  noble  King, 
The  good  Amfortas,  yielded  to  a  sin,  — 
And  lost  the  Spear,  and  had  his  fatal  wound. 
Now  with  the  Spear  within  his  evil  grasp 
Klingsor  exults,  and  mockingly  does  tell 
How  his  black  fingers  soon  will  hold  the  Grail." 

Then  the  young  knights  who  listened  to  the 

tale 

Upstarted  with  the  cry:  "God  give  us  grace 
To  wrest  that  sacred  Spear  from   impious 

hands!" 

But  Gurnemanz  thus  checked  them:  "Listen 

yet! 

Long  did  our  King  Amfortas  kneel  before 
The  sanctuary,  praying  in  his  pain 
And  seeking  for  a  word  of  hope  from  God. 
At  length  a  radiance  glowed  around  the  Grail, 

13 


And  from  its  glory  shone  a  Sacred  Face 
That  spake  this  oracle  of  mystic  words: 

"By  pity  'lightened, 
]K)  n  r  «t  f A  »  My  guileless  One,  - 

Wait  for  him, 
Till  My  will  is  done!" 

And  as  the  knights   repeated  these  weird 

words,  — 
There  came  wild  cries  and  shouting  from  the 

lake: 
"Shame!  shame!  alas,  the  shame  to  shoot  the 

swan!" 

And  as  they  looked,  a  wild  swan  came  in  sight ; 
It  floated  feebly  o'er  the  flurried  lake 
And  strove  to  fly,  but  wounded  fluttered  down 
And  sank  upon  the  lake-shore,  and  was  dead. 
And  Gurnemanz  cried  out:  "Who  shot  the 

swan? 

The  King  had  hailed  it  as  a  happy  sign, 
Whene'er  a  swan  came  near  him  in  its  flight. 
For  since  the  earliest  ages  has  this  bird 
Meant  hope  and  health  and  holiness  to  men.  — 
Who  dared  to  do  this  dastard  deed  of  shame?" 

Then  came  a  knight  leading  a  guileless  boy 
And  said :  "This  is  the  one  who  shot  the  swan,— 
And  here  more  arrows  like  the  cruel  shaft 
That  hides  itself  within  the  bleeding  breast." 

To  whom  spake  Gurnemanz:  "What  mean'st 

thou,  boy, 
By  such  a  cruel,  shameless  deed  as  this?" 


But  the  boy  answered:  "Yea,  it  was  my  shot 
I  shot  the  swan  in  flight  when  high  in  air." 

Then  Gurnemanz:  "Shame  to  confess  such  ; 

deed!  Parsifal 

Such  sacrilege  within  these  holy  woods, 
Where  seems  to  dwell  the  perfect  peace  of  God. 
Were  not  the  woodland  creatures  kind  to 

thee,  — 

Did  not  the  sweet  birds  sing  their  songs  to  thee, 
When  first  thou  earnest  to  these  leafy  haunts? 
And  this  poor  swan,  so  mild  and  beautiful,— 
How  could  thy  heart  determine  on  such  deed? 
It  hovered  o'er  the  lake  in  circling  grace, 
Seeking  the  dear  companion  of  its  love,  — 
For  e'en  the  heart  of  bird  doth  know  sweet 

love,— 

And  seeming  to  make  sacred  all  the  lake. 
Didst  thou  not  marvel  at  its  queenly  flight, 
And  feel  a  reverence  in  thine  inmost  soul? 
What  tempted  thee  to  shoot  the  fatal  shaft, 
And  slay  the  bird  and  grieve  the  loving  King  ? . . . 
See  where  the  deadly  arrow  smote  its  breast! 
Behold   the   snowy  plumage  splashed  with 

blood! 

The  spreading  pinions  drooping  helpless  now, 
And  in  its  eye  the  agony  of  death ! 
Slain  by  thy  cruel  heart  that  knows  no  shame! 
Dost  thou  not  see  how  wicked  is  thy  deed?" 

Then  was  the  young  boy  stricken  with  remorse, 
And  drew  his  hand  across  his  moistened  eyes, 
As  if  new  pity  dawned  within  his  soul ; 
Then  quickly  snatching  up  his  strong  arched 
bow, 

15 


He  broke  it,  and  his  arrows  flung  away. 
And  clutching  at  his  breast  as  if  in  pain 
He  stood  a  time  in  conscious  agony,  — 
12)at8lfal  Deep  feeling  surging  through  his  stricken 

heart; 

And  then  he  turned  again  to  Gurnemanz 
With  the  brave  words:  "I  did  not  understand 
What  evil  I  was  doing  with  my  bow." 

"Whence  art  thou?"  Gurnemanz  did  ask  of 

him; 

And  dazed  he  answered :  "That  I  do  not  know." 
"But  who  thy  father? "—"That  I  do  not  know." 
"Who  sent  thee  here?"— "I  do  not  know  e'en 

that." 
Then  Gurnemanz:  "Yet  tell  me  but  thy  name." 

And  in  a  strange  and  dazed  way  he  replied: 
"Once  I  had  many.  Now,  I  do  not  know." 
And  Gurnemanz  spake  sharply,  half  in  wrath, 
"Thou   knowest  nothing.   Such  a  guileless 

soul,— 

So  wisely  foolish,  and  so  foolish  wise,— 
A  very  child  in  heart,  yet  strangely  strong, 
Ne'er  have  I  found,  except  in  Kundry  here.  .  .  . 
Come,  brother-knights,  lift  up  the  stricken  swan 
And  bear  it  on  these  branches  to  the  lake ; 
Nor  speak  of  this  sad  sorrow  to  the  King 
To  further  grieve  his  deep-afflicted  heart. 
Stricken  the  King  and  wounded  to  his  death, 
This  omen  he  may  dwell  on  to  his  hurt." 

And  back   unto  the  King's  bath  went  the 

knights, 

While  Gurnemanz  spake  further  to  the  lad : 
16 


"Speak  out  thy  heart  to  me.  I  am  thy  friend.    Ct)0 
Surely  thou  knowest  much  that  thou  canst  say." 

Of 

Then  spake  the  boy  and  told  him  of  his  life: 

"I  have  a  mother,— Heartsrue  is  she  called. 
And  on  the  barren  moorland  is  our  home. 
My  bow  and  arrows  have  I  made  myself 
To  scare  the  eagles  in  the  forest  wilds." 

Then  Gurnemanz:  "Yea,  thou  hast  told  me 

true, 

For  thou  thyself  art  of  the  eagle  brood. 
I  see  a  something  kingly  in  thy  look. 
Yet  better  had  thy  mother  taught  thy  hands 
To  spear  and  sword  than  this  unmanly  bow." 

Whereat  the  wild  witch  Kundry  raised  herself 
From  where  she  lay  along  the  bosky  woods, 
And  hoarsely  broke  in:  "Yea,  his  noble  sire 
Was  Gamuret,  in  battle  slain  and  lost 
A  month  before  his  child  had  seen  the  light. 
And  so  to  save  her  son  from  such  a  death, 
The  lonely  mother  reared  him  in  the  woods, 
And  taught  him  nothing  of  the  spear  and  sword, 
But  kept  him  ever  as  a  guileless  child." 

Then  spake  the  lad:  "And  once  I  saw  a  host 
Of  men  pass  by  the  borders  of  the  wood, 
A-glitter  in  the  sun,  and  riding  fast 
On  splendid  creatures,  prancing  as  they  went. 
Oh,  I  would  fain  have  been  like  these  fair  men. 
But,  laughing  gaily,  on  they  galloped  fast 
And  I  ran  after  them  to  be  like  them, 
And  join  the  glittering  host  and  see  the  world. 

17 


But  though  I  ran,  they  faded  from  my  sight. 
Coining  Yet  have  I  followed,  over  hill  and  dale. 
Day  after  day  I  follow  on  their  track, 

19atSifiJi  ^"^  ^ere  *  am  as  now  vou  see  me  ^ere- 
My  bow  has  done  me  service  on  the  way 

Against  wild  beasts  and  savage-seeming  men." 

And  Kundry  added:  "Yea,  the  fiery  boy 
Has  sent  a  terror  into  many  hearts  — 
The  wicked  always  fear  the  nobly  good." 
Then  asked  the  boy  in  sweetest  innocence  : 
"And  who  are  wicked,  tell  me,  and  who  good?" 

And  Kundry  spake:"Thy  mother,  she  was  good. 
She  grieved  for  thee,  but  now  she  grieves  no 

more. 

For  as  I  lately  rode  along  that  way 
Coming  with  haste  from  far  Arabia, 
I  saw  her  dying,  and  she  spake  to  me, 
And  sent  her  blessing  to  her  darling  boy." 


At  which  the  boy  with  sudden  childish  rage: 
"My  mother  dead  !  and  sent  a  grace  by  thee,— 
Thou  liest,  woman  !  Take  thy  false  words  back  !" 
And  still  impetuous  and  unreasoning, 
Fighting  the  facts  of  life  in  rebel  mood 
(A  child  of  sudden  temper,  guileless  heart), 
He  seized  her,  struggling  with  a  furious  might 
To  make  her  unsay  what  her  lips  had  told. 
Perhaps  he  might  have  harmed  her  in  his  wrath, 
Had  not  the  aged  Gurnemanz  come  near, 
And  drawn  him  back,  with  the  sharp-spoken 

words  : 
"Impetuous  child,  restrain  thy  violence! 

18 


This  woman  harms  thee  not.  She  speaks  the 

truth! 
Kundry  has  seen  it,  for  she  never  lies." 

And  at  the  word,  the  lad  grew  calm  again, 
And  silent  stood  with  still  and  stony  stare, 
Until  his  heart  broke  out  in  woe  afresh 
(A  guileless  child,  not  knowing  strong  control), 
And  he  was  seized  with  trembling,  and  he 
swooned. 

Then  Kundry,  bearing  naught  of  hate  or  spite, 
Ran  to  a  pebbly  brook  that  flowed  near  by, 
And  brought  cold  water  in  an  ancient  horn, 
Sprinkled  the  lad,  and  gave  him  some  to  drink. 

And  Gurnemanz,  with  kindly  look  at  her, 
Spake  out :  "Thy  deed  is  worthy  of  the  Grail,  — 
A  cup  of  water  fails  not  of  reward ; 
And  sin  is  conquered  by  the  deeds  of  good." 

But  Kundry  muttered  still:  "I  do  no  good!" 
Then  in  still  lower  tone  to  her  own  self: 
"I  do  no  good,  I  only  long  for  rest. 

0  weary  me !  Would  I  might  never  wake ! 
Yet  dare  I  sleep?  It  means  calamity 

To  those  whom  I  in  vain  have  tried  to  serve. 
Resist  I  cannot !  Yea,  the  time  has  come ! 

1  feel  the  awful  spell  upon  mine  eyes,  — 
Slumber  I  must !  Slave  of  that  evil  one 
Who  wields  his  black  art  from  the  mountain 

height. 

Sleep,  sleep,  to  sleep!  I  must!  I  must!  I  must!" 
With  this  she  crept  away  and  laid  her  down 
Within  a  thicket  of  the  forest  woods. 

19 


Meanwhile  the  litter  of  the  King  came  back 
With  all  its  retinue  of  gallant  knights. 
And  Gurnemanz  held  up  the  tottering  lad, 
^^  sorrowing  at  the  sad  news  come  to  him, 
And  slowly  led  him  toward  the  castle  gate, 
While  softly  speaking  to  him  graciously: 
"See  how  our  King  Amfortas  from  the  bath 
Is  carried  by  his  loving  servitors. 
•The  sun  is  rising  high.  The  time  has  come 
When  we  shall  celebrate  our  holy  Feast. 
There  will  I  lead  thee.  If  thy  heart  be  pure, 
The  Grail  will  be  to  thee  as  food  and  drink." 
Then  asked  the  lad:  "What  is  this  thing,  the 
Grail?" 

And  Gurnemanz:  "I  may  not  tell  thee  that, 
But  if  to  serve  it  thou  art  surely  called, 
Then  shalt  thou  know  its  meaning  to  the  full. 
Somehow  I  feel  and  hope  that  thou  shalt  know, 
Else  what  has  led  thy  footsteps  to  this  height. 
Yet  no  one  sees  the  glory  of  the  Grail 
Save  those  to  whom  it  shall  reveal  itself." 

Then  on  they  moved,  and  softly  spake  the  lad : 
"I  scarcely  move,  and  yet  I  seem  to  run,  — 
What  is  the  meaning  of  this  strange  new 
thing?" 

And  Gurnemanz  made  answer:  "Here,  my  child, 
There  is  no  space  and  time,  but  all  is  one,  — 
For  here  we  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  God,  — 
A  boundless  Here  and  an  eternal  Now." 

Then  on  they  went,  and  soon  were  lost  to  view 
Within  the  gateway  of  a  rocky  cliff; 
20 


Sometimes  came  glimpses  of  them  as  they 

climbed 

The  sloping  passages  within  the  cliff- 
A  cloistered  corridor  of  carven  columns— 
And  paused  a  moment  at  some  rocky  window 
To  see  the  grandeur  of  the  mountain  heights. 
The  soft  notes  of  a  trumpet  called  them  up, 
And  silver  bells  were  chiming  melodies. 

At  length  they  reached  the  noble  pillared  hall 

Within  the  castle  of  the  Holy  Grail, 

For  here  the  sacred  feast  was  always  kept,  — 

And  here  were  gathering  the  blessed  knights. 

Clothed  were  they  all  in  tunics  of  gray-blue,  — 

The  color  of  the  softened  light  of  heaven,  — 

With  mantles  of  pale  scarlet,  flowing  free,  — 

The  very  tincture  of  the  blood  they  served,  — 

And  on  the  mantles  snow-white  soaring  doves, 

The  symbol  of  the  Holy  Spirit's  gift. 

And  with  a  solemn  joy  they  took  their  place 

Along  the  tables  of  communing  love ; 

The  while  from  the  great  vaulted  dome  above 

Came  ever-growing  sound  of  chiming  bells. 

Then  spellbound  stood  the  lad  and  gazed 

around, 

Amazed  at  all  the  glory  of  the  hall, 
And  all  the  solemn  splendor  of  the  scene, 
Till  Gurnemanz  stooped  down  and  whispered 

low: 

"Now  give  good  heed,  and  if  thy  heart  be  pure, 
And  thou  art  called,  then  surely  thou  shalt 

know." 


21 


Then  sangthe  knights  this  chorus  soft  and  slow: 
HOLY  feast  of  blessing, 
Our  portion  day  by  day; 
In  thee  God's  grace  possessing, 
That  passeth  not  away. 
Who  doth  the  right  and  true, 
Here  findeth  strength  anew; 
This  cup  his  hand  may  lift, 
And  claim  God's  holiest  gift." 

And  from  the  mid-height  of  the  lofty  dome 
The  voices  of  the  younger  knights  replied: 
"As  anguished  and  holy 
The  dear  Saviour  lowly, 
For  us  sinners  His  own  life  did  offer; 
So  with  hearts  pure  and  free, 
Forever  do  we 

Our  lives  unto  Him  gladly  proffer. 
He  died  —  our  sins  atoned  for  thus,  — 
He  died  — yet  liveth  still  in  us!" 

And  from  the  topmost  of  the  glorious  dome 
A  chorus  of  fresh  boyish  voices  came : 
"The  faith  doth  live! 
The  Lord  doth  give 
The  Dove,  His  sacred  token! 
Drink  at  this  board 
The  wine  outpoured, 
And  eat  the  bread  here  broken!" 

And  as  they  sang  their  sweet  antiphonies, 
A  long  procession  through  the  splendid  hall 
Wended  slow  way,  and  bearing  in  the  King, 
The  suffering  Amfortas  in  his  pain, 

22 


Still  lying  listless  on  his  royal  couch. 

Before  him  walked  a  company  of  boys 

Clothed  in  pale  blue,  and  bearing  high  aloft 

A  mystic  shrine  in  cloth  of  deepest  crimson,     10aratfef 

To  signify  the  royal  blood  beneath. 

And  others  followed  bearing  silver  flagons 

With  wine,  and  baskets  of  the  finest  bread. 

Slowly  the  King  was  carried  to  a  couch 

Within  the  midst,  high-raised  and  canopied, 

And  just  before  him,  of  a  pure  white  stone, 

Traced  with  faint  figures  of  the  passion-flower, 

Stood  the  communion  table  where  was  placed 

The  sacred  shrine,  still  covered,  of  the  Grail. 

And  when  the  hymns  were  ended,  and  the 

knights 

Had  taken  their  set  places  at  the  board, 
Then  there  was  silence.  And  from  far  away, 
As  if  from  some  deep  cavern  of  a  tomb, 
Behind  the  couch  where  King  Amfortas  lay 
The  muffled  voice  of  aged  Titurel 
Spake  with  long  silences  between  the  words: 
"My  son  Amfortas,  art  thou  at  thy  post?  . . . 
Wilt  thou  unveil  the  Grail  and  bid  me  live? . . . 
Or  must  I  die,  denied  the  saving  vision?" 

And  King  Amfortas  cried  in  desperate  pain : 
"O  woe  is  me  to  bear  the  burning  wound 
That  shames  me  in  the  office  of  the  Grail! 
O  father,  do  thou  take  the  sacred  trust 
And  let  thy  holy  hands  reveal  the  Grail 
Once  more,  and  live!  And  let  me  quickly  die!" 

But  answered  him  the  aged  Titurel : 
"Nay,  nay,  too  feeble  I  to  serve  again. 

23 


Cf)0  I  live  entombed  with  but  a  breath  of  life, 

Coining  Saved  by  the  remnant  of  the  grace  of  God. 
gf  My  strength  all  gone,  but  my  poor  yearning 

heart 

Still  eager  for  the  vision  of  the  Grail; 

For  this  alone  can  bring  me  comfort  now. 

Thine  is  the  office.  O  unveil  the  Grail ! 

For  serving  faithfully  thou  mayst  atone 

For  all  the  grievous  sin  of  thy  sad  life." 

But  quickly  King  Amfortas  stopped  the  knights 
Who  went  to  do  his  bidding  at  the  shrine : 
"Nay,  leave  the  Holy  Cup  still  unrevealed! 
God  grant  that  none  of  you  may  ever  know 
The  torment  that  this  vision  brings  to  me 
Which  brings  to  you  all  rapture  and  all  joy. 
Here  do  I  stand  in  office,  yet  accurst,  — 
My  heart  of  lust  to  guard  God's  holiest  gift, 
And  plead  in  prayer  from  lips  all  stained  with 

sin,— 
Pleading  for  you  who  purer  are  than  I ! 

0  direst  judgment  from  the  God  of  grace! 
My  inmost  soul  doth  long  for  His  forgive- 
ness, 

1  yearn  for  sign  of  His  compassion, 

Yet  cannot  bear  His  mercy  in  the  Grail. . . . 
But  now  the  hour  is  nigh !  I  seem  to  see 
A  ray  of  glory  fall  upon  the  Cup ! 
The  veil  is  raised !  The  sacred  stream  that  flows 
Within  the  crystal,  gloriously  shines 
With  radiance  heaven-born.  But  as  it  glows, 
I  feel  the  well-spring  of  the  blood  divine 
Pouring  in  floods  into  my  anguished  heart. 
And  then  the  full  tide  of  my  sinful  blood 

24 


Ebbs  out  in  tumult  wild  through  this  deep(j;j)0 

wound 

Here  in  my  side.  It  leaps  in  bounds  of  pain, 
Like  torments  of  the  lowest  depths  of  hell,  — 
Through  this  deep  wound.  Like  H  is  own  woun 

it  is, 
Thrust  through  with  bitter  stroke  of  that  same 

Spear, 

And  in  the  self-same  place  from  which  His  tears 
Of  burning  blood  wept  over  man's  disgrace 
In  holiest  pity  and  divinest  love ; 
And  now  from  me,  the  highest  office  holding 
And  charged  with  holiest  trust  of  God's  good 

grace,— 

From  me  the  hot,  impassioned  blood  is  surging, 
Renewed  again  by  that  first  awful  sin. 
Alas,  no  deep  repentance  e'er  can  save 
A  sinner  dyed  in  sins  so  scarlet  red. 
Naught  can  avail,  but  only  one  sure  thing, 
The  healing  touch  of  that  thrice-sacred  Spear, 
Held  in  the  pure  hand  of  the  guileless  One. 
Have  mercy,  O  have  mercy,  pitying  God ! 
Take  back  my  birthright  in  the  sacred  trust ! 
Take  back  my  life  and  all  I  hold  most  dear! 
But  give  me  healing,  and  Thy  tender  love,— 
And  let  me  die,  and  come  to  Thee  pure-hearted ! " 

And  as  he  ended  in  an  anguished  sob, 
The  boys'  sweet  voices  chanted  from  the  dome: 
"By  pity  'lightened, 

My  guileless  One,  — 
Wait  for  him, 
Till  My  will  is  done!" 

Then  softly  all  the  knights  cried : "  Tis  God's  will 

25 


That  thou   shouldst  wait  in  suffering,   yet 

Coming      h°Pe — 

Of  Fulfil  thy  duty:  and  reveal  the  Grail!" 

While  deep  the  voice  of  aged  Titurel : 
"Unveil  theGrail!  Sir  knights,unveiltheGrail!" 

Then  they  took  off  the  cloth  all  purple-red, 
And  Slowly  brought  to  light  the  golden  shrine, 
And  from  it  took  the  antique  crystal  Cup,  — 
Forever  cherished  as  the  Holy  Grail,  — 
And  set  it  on  the  table  near  the  King, 
Who  writhed  in  silent  anguish  on  his  couch. 

Then  aged  Titurel:  "The  blessing  now!" 

And  King  Amfortas  bowed  in  silent  prayer 
Before  the  Cup,  while  an  increasing  gloom 
Spread  through  the  room,  and  from  the  lofty 

dome 
The  voices  of  the  boys  sang  soft  and  low: 

KE  ve> and  drink  My  blood> 

In  vow  no  death  can  sever! 
Take  ye,  My  body  eat, 

In  love  to  live  forever! 
Remember  ye  My  life  and  love, 
And  raise  your  hearts  to  Me  above!" 

And  as  the  verse  was  ended,  came  a  ray 
Of  dazzling  light  upon  the  crystal  Cup, 
And  filled  it  with  a  radiant  purple  glory. 
And  with  it  came  a  streaming  splendor  down 
That  flashed  a  lustrous  beauty  all  around. 
And  King  Amfortas,  with  a  brightening  face, 

26 


Upraised  the  Holy  Grail,  and  gently  waved        CfrC 
Its  glory  to  all  sides.  And  all  did  kneel,  COltUtlff 

And  raised  their  eyes  in  joyous  reverence 
Toward  that  bright  glory  in  the  darkened  room. 

And  once  again  the  aged  Titurel's  voice : 
"O  rapturous  vision  of  the  grace  of  God!" 

Then  King  Amfortas  placed  the  Cup  again 
Upon  the  altar-table  of  the  shrine, 
And  it  was  covered  with  the  crimson  cloth. 
And  from  the  silver  flagons  of  the  wine 
And  from  the  baskets  of  the  sacred  bread, 
New  consecrated  by  the  Grail's  own  light, 
Each  knight  received  his  portion  gratefully, 
And  all  sat  down  to  eat  the  feast  divine. 
Then  Gurnemanz  did  beckon  to  the  lad 
To  come  and  eat.  But  he  was  all  amazed, 
And  silent  stood,  nor  heeded  the  kind  word. 

While  from  the  height,  boys'  voices  came  again : 

INE  and  bread  of  consecration, 
Once  the  Lord  for  our  salvation 
Changed  for  love  and  pity's  sake 
To  the  blood  which  He  did  shed, 
To  the  body  which  He  brake." 

And  answering  them,  the  younger  knights  re- 
plied 

In  sweet  antiphony  amid  the  feast: 
"Blood  and  body,  gift  of  blessing, 
Now  He  gives  for  your  refreshing, 
Changes  by  His  spirit  true 
To  the  wine  for  you  outpoured, 
To  the  bread  that  strengthens  you." 

27 


And  still  in  answer  did  the  knights  respond, 
ne  group  in  joyous  answer  to  the  other: 

"^YAKE  ve  the  bread' 

VA_  Change  it  again, 
Your  powers  of  life  inspiring; 

Do  as  He  said, 

Qtitt  you  like  men, 
"fo  work  out  the  Lord's  desiring. 

"Take  of  the  wine,  ^ 

Change  it  anew 
To  life's  impetuous  torrent; 

This  be  the  sign, 

Faithful  and  true,  — 
To  fight  as  duty  shall  warrant!"  ' 

Then  all  the  knights,  with  rapture  in  their 

hearts, 

Rose  joyfully  and  clasped  each  other's  hands 
And  gave  each  other  the  blest  kiss  of  peace, 
And  from  their  lips  and  from  the  dome's  great 

height, 

And  from  the  younger  knights  the  chorus 
broke : 

"Blessed  believing! 
Blessed  the  Ipving! 
Blessed  the  loving! 
Blessed  believing!" 

But  King  Amfortas  bowed  his  anguished  head, 
And  held  his  wound  all  broken  out  afresh. 
Slowly  they  carried  him  from  out  the  hall 
And  slowly  marched  the  knights  with  solemn 

joy, 

Bearing  the  Grail  within  the  covered  shrine, 
28 


While  bells  were  chiming  in  the  lofty  dome. 

And  then  the  lad  — for  he  was  Parsifal— 

Tight  clutched  his  heart  in  sorrowful  distress 

As  King  Amfortas  groaned  in  bitter  woe.  10at Sifal 

He  stood  in  utter  anguish  overcome, 

Breathing  impulsive  with  deep  sympathy, 

But  spake  no  single  word,  nor  gave  one  sign 

That  he  had  understood  the  solemn  feast, 

Or  seen  the  glory  of  the  Holy  Grail. 

And  when  the  last  knight  left  the  festal  hall 

And  all  the  doors  were  closed,  then  Gurnemanz 

Came  to  the  lad  and  shook  him  from  the  spell 

And  asked:  "What  sawest  thou,  what  does  it 
mean?" 

And  when  he  answered  not,  but  shook  his  head, 

Clutching  his  heart  as  if  in  agony, 

The  patient  Gurnemanz  had  patience  then  no 
more, 

But  thrust  him  out  and  quick  made  fast  the 
door, 

With  the  scant  words:  "Begone,  thou  guile- 
less lad! 

Guileless  thou  mayst  be;  utter  fool  thou  art!" 

So  Parsifal  went  forth  into  the  world, 

Naught  knowing  of  the  meaning  of  it  all 

Except  the  new-stirred  pity  in  his  heart. 

And  as  the  angry  Gurnemanz  returned, 

And  made  his  way  along  the  pillared  hall, 

He  stopped,  amazed,  and  listened,  for  he  heard 

From  far  above  a  gentle  voice  that  sang: 
"By  pity  'lightened, 
My  guileless  One!" 

And  from  the  loftiest  dome  another  voice: 
"Blessed  believing!" 

29 


PARSIFAL.  PART  II 


THE  TEMPTING  OF  PARSIFAL 

(LINGSOR  the  dread  magi- 
cian plied  his  arts 
And  worked  in  shame  his 

dastardly  black  deeds, 
Within  the  inner  keep  of  a 

great  tower,  — 
The  watch-tower  of  the  grim 

and  frowning  castle. 
Here  in  a  dark  and  dismal  rocky  room, 
Where  Heaven's  light  could  scarcely  find  a  way, 
And  where  around  him  lay  his  books  and  tools 
Of  hateful  magic,  littering  the  floor, 
Steadfast  he  looked  upon  a  metal  mirror 
That  told  the  fates  to  him,  —  then  muttered  low : 
"The  time  has  come !  Lo,  how  my  tower  entices 
The  guileless  lad,  who  cometh  like  a.  child 
With  happy  heart,  and  laughter  on  his  lips. 
Come,  I  must  work  my  work  by  her  who  sleeps 
In  heavy  slumber  underneath  my  spell ; 
For  in  the  past  she  did  my  deadliest  deeds." 

And  in  the  gloom  he  kindled  incense  rare, 
That  filled  the  keep  with  blue  unearthly  smoke ; 
And  sitting  at  the  mirror  once  again, 
He  called  with  mystic  gestures  to  the  depths 
That  yawned  beneath  an  opening  in  the  floor: 
"Uprise !  Come  forth !  Draw  near  me  at  my  will ! 
Thy  master  calls  thee,  nameless  wanderer, 
Rose-bloom  of  Hell,  and  ancient  devil-queen! 
A  thousand  times  the  earth  has  known  thy  face 
In  many  forms  of  woman's  wiles  and  sins,  — 
Herodias  wert  thou  in  ancient  time, 
And  once  again  Gundryggia  wert  called 

33 


In  old  Norse  days;  but  thou  art  Kundry  now, 
Symbol  of  woman's  wile  and  cruel  craft. 
Come  hither,  Kundry,  for  thy  master  calls!" 

Then  in  the  blue  light  Kundry  slow  appeared. 
Asleep  she  seemed,  and  dreaming  in  her  sleep, 
But  sudden  wakened  with  a  dreadful  cry, 
A  shuddering  cry,  half  laughter,  half  in  pain. 

And  Klingsor  spake  again:  "Awakest  thou? 

Again  my  spell  is  potent  on  thy  life ; 

My  will  again  shall  use  thee  for  my  deeds." 

But  Kundry  cried  in  bitter  agony, 

And  wailed  in  fear  and  anguish  at  his  feet ; 

While  Klingsor  asked  her  in  deep  thunder 
tones: 

"  Where«hast  thou  wandered  since  I  used  thee 
last? 

I  know.  Among  the  brethren  of  the  Grail, 

Who  thought  thee  but  a  witch  and  serving- 
wench. 

Do  I  not  treat  thee  with  a  better  grace, 

And  use  thee  for  the  mightiest  of  deeds? 

Since  thou  didst  lure  for  me  the  brave  Am- 
fortas  — 

Chaste  guardian  (they  thought  him)  of  the 
Grail  — 

Thou  hast  deserted  my  high  name  and  service. 

What  better  hast  thou  found  than  me  and 
mine?" 

Then   Kundry  cried  in  hoarse  and  broken 

speech : 
"O  dismal  night  and  shame  and  wickedness! 

34 


Would  I  could  sleep  the  deepest  sleep  of 

death!"  Cempt' 


And  Klingsor  asked:  "What  has  there  come 

to  thee?  IPatsifal 

Has  some  one  else  awaked  thee  from  thy  sleep?" 
And  trembling  Kundry  answered:  "Even  so. 
And,  oh,  the  longing  to  redeem  my  life!" 

Then  Klingsor:  "Yea,  with  knights  so  pure  in 

heart, 
The  evil  Kundry  would  be  Heaven-pure." 

But  Kundry  answered  all  his  mockery: 
"Yea,  I  did  serve  them  well  and  faithfully." 

And  Klingsor  spake  with  a  great  voice  of 

scorn  : 
"Thou  wouldst  amend  the  mischief  thou  hast 

done?  .  .  . 

They  are  not  worth  it  !  They  are  fools  and  weak. 
I  buy  them  all  for  price  of  one  sweet  sin. 
The  strongest  was  the  weakest  in  thine  arms. 
And  so  I  ruined  him,  and  won  the  Spear, 
And  left  him  with  the  ever-burning  wound. 
But  now  to-day  another  must  be  met,— 
Most  dangerous  because  so  godlike  pure, 
For  he  is  shielded  by  a  guileless  heart." 

And  Kundry  cried:  "Him  will  I  never  tempt! 
Thou  canst  not  force  me  to  the  hateful  deed." 
But  Klingsor  answered:  "Yea,  thou  shalt,  thou 

must. 

I  am  thy  master  and  I  have  the  power. 
Thy  charms  and  woes  are  nothing  unto  me. 

35 


Laugh  at  me,  if  you  will.  I  have  the  power! 
^ea»  *  remember  all  the  days  of  yore,— 
That  once  I  sought  the  holier,  happier  life, 
l'«)arfiifaf  Within  the  service  of  the  Holy  Grail; 

But  it  was  mad  ambition,  desperate  wish, 
And  thou  didst  quench  it  for  me,  devil's-queen, 
And  drown  it  in  thy  hellish  arts  of  love. 
But  that  is  past.  Now  thou  art  but  my  slave. 
And  Titurel,  who  scorned  me  at  the  gates, 
And  all  his  knights  with  their  proud  King  Am- 

fortas, 

Through  thy  dark  wiles  I  ruined  utterly. 
And  in  my  hand  I  hold  their  sacred  Spear 
And  soon  shall  have  their  shining  Holy  Grail. 
Remember  now  to  use  thy  wiles  again 
As  thou  didst  love  Amfortas  to  his  shame." 

But  Kundry  cried:  "O  misery  and  shame! 
That  e'en  their  King  should  be  so  weak  with 

me, 

And  all  men  weak.  O  hateful,  hateful  curse 
That  ruiris  them  and  me  in  sin  together! 
O  for  the  sleep  of  death  to  end  all  this!" 

And  Klingsor  then : "  Perhaps  thy  wish  is  near, 
For  he  who  can  defy  thee,  sets  thee  free. 
Go  tempt  the  guileless  boy,  and  win  thy  wish." 

But  Kundry  answered  still:  "I  will  not  tempt 
him!" 

Then  Klingsor:  "Yea,  thou  must!  It  is  my  will. 
For  this  I  wakened  thee.  And  fair  is  he. 
See,  from  my  window  I  can  watch  him  come. 

36 


He  scales  the  ramparts  like  a  hero  born. 

This  trumpet  I  will  blow  and  wake  the  guards, 

Ho!  warders  of  the  gates  and  walls!  to  arms! 

A  foe  is  near! .  . .  List  to  the  clash  of  swords! ;S»      f 

How  my  deluded  vassals  swarm  the  walls 

To  guard  my  castle  and  the  maidens  here  — 

Bewitching  creatures  fashioned  by  my  art! 

Behold!  the  guileless  lad  is  not  afraid! 

He  fights  with  bold  Sir  Ferris,  wrests  a  sword, 

And  flashes  it  with  fury  in  their  midst." 

And  as  he  fought,  Kundry  laughed  loud  and 

long, 

And  now  she  groaned  in  awful  agony, 
Then  with  a  sudden  shriek  was  lost  to  sight. 

Still  Klingsor  spake:  "How  ill  his  fiery  zeal 
Agrees  with  the  weak  spirit  of  these  knights. 
Wounded  in  arm  and  limb,  they  yield,  they  fly, 
And  carry  off  a  multitude  of  scars. 
But  what  care  I,  you  puny,  craven  race? 
Would  that  the  weak  knights  of  the  Holy  Grail 
Might  rise  in  wrath  and  slay  each  other  thus! 
How  proudly  stands  the  youth  upon  the  walls! 
How  red  the  roses  in  his  cheeks  are  laughing! 
And  how  amazed  he  is,  like  some  sweet  child, 
To  see  this  wondrous  garden  at  his  feet! 
Ho!  Kundry!  Hast  thou  gone?  I  thought  I 

heard 

Thy  laughter,  or  a  sudden  cry  of  pain. 
Doubtless  already  she  is  hard  at  work 
To  do  my  bidding,  for  she  is  my  slave, 
And  what  I  tell  her,  she  must  surely  do. 
There,  there,  my  gallant  lad,  so  sweet  and  brave, 

37 


Cempt; 
ing  of 
Parsifal 


Thou  art  too  young  to  understand  these  things. 
But  thou  shalt  learn,  —  my  arts  will  teach  thee 

well, 

And  when  thy  guileless  heart  shall  be  ensnared, 
Then  thou  art  weak,  and  lost,  —  and  mine  the 

Grail!" 

Then,  wondrous  sight!  the  castle  disappeared, 
Save  here  and  there  a  distant  battlement, 
And  through  the  foliage  the  palace  walls, 
And  windows  of  Arabian  tracery. 
But    everywhere   were    flowers  —  wondrous 

flowers  — 

Rising  in  terraces  of  tropic  growth : 
A  splendid  garden  of  luxuriant  flowers 
Created  by  dread  Klingsor's  magic  art. 

And  Parsifal,  astounded  at  the  scene, 
Stood  silently  upon  the  castle  walls, 
As  to  his  eye  the  great  flowers  seemed  to  wake, 
And  rush  in  airy  garments  here  and  there. 
They  seemed  like  maidens  and  they  seemed 

like  flowers, 

So  graceful  and  so  beautiful  were  they. 
And  as  they  moved  they  spoke  in  rhythmic 

tones : 

ERE  was  the  tumult  and  shoutings! 
Here  was  the  clashing  of  weapons! 

"Horror!  our  lovers  are  wounded! 
Here  in  the  palace  is  carnage ! 

"Who  is  the  foe  that  assails  us? 
Accurst  shall  he  be  by  us  all!" 


But  Parsifal  leaped  gaily  to  their  midst, 
And  smiled  upon  them  with  unfeigned  delight; 
And  cried:  "Thus  do  I  win  my  way  to  you,  — 
The  loveliest  maidens  that  mine  eyes  have  i         *if*i 
seen."  j^ol»\ 

And  pacified  they  ask:  "Thou  comest  here 
And  wilt  not  harm  us,  but  be  kind  to  us?" 

And  Parsifal:  "Nowhere  such  maidens  live,  — 
Fair  flowers  of  the  garden  of  delight. 
I  could  not  treat  you  ill,  you  are  so  fair! 
Again  you  bring  sweet  childhood's  days  to  me, 
For  you  are  all  so  lovely  and  so  bright." 

And  then  the  maidens  welcomed  the  gay  youth 
And  spake  to  him:  "If  thou  wilt  be  our  friend, 
Then  art  thou  welcome  in  our  happy  garden. 
We  do  not  play  for  gold,  but  only  love,  — 
The  rosebud  garlands  of  the  joy  of  life." 

Then  other  maidens  came  in  flowers  clad, 
And  danced  around  him  with  their  laughing 

grace, 
And  sang  in  tones  of  winsome  witchery: 

*E  are  thy  fragrant  flowers, 
Blooming  alone  for  thee, 
And  full  of  love's  own  bliss 
And  life's  deep  mystery ! 


VI  V" 
vJLJ 


"Come,  kiss  our  rosy  lips, 
For  thou  our  lover  art, 
And  taste  the  nectar  sweet 
Of  nature's  secret  heart." 


39 


Cf)0          And  Parsifal,  still  with  the  guileless  heart, 
^Dcntpfc    And  seeing  all  with  only  childlike  eyes, 
Untouched  of  evil,  nor  discerning  sin, 
Asked  laughingly:  "And  are  you  really  flowers? 
I  do  not  know.  You  are  so  beautiful." 

Then  crowded  they  around   him  with  their 

charms, 

And  pleaded  with  him,  "Love  us  ere  we  die!" 
Crowded  each  other,  jealous  of  his  smile, 
And  struggling  eagerly  to  win  his  love. 

But  Parsifal  repulsed  their  too  fond  hearts, 
And  shunned  their  circle  of  entwining  arms 
With  gentle  gesture :  "Sweetest  sister-flowers, 
I  like  ye  better  in  the  flowery  dance, 
And  when  ye  give  .me  space  to  see  your 

charms. 
Away,  sweet  sisters,  leave  me  here  alone!" 

Then  did  they  chide  him:  "Art  afraid  of  us, 
Or  art  thou  also  cold,  as  well  as  coward? 
Here  butterfly  is  wooed  by  loving  flowers, 
And  does  not  know  enough  to  sip  the  sweet." 

And  Parsifal  discerned  them  then,  and  cried : 
"Begone,  false  flowers,  ye  cannot  snare  my 
heart!" 

But  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  flowery  throng, 
He  heard  a  sweet  voice  from  a  leafy  bower 
Say:  "Parsifal!  A  moment!  Parsifal!" 

And  quick  he  stopped  and  murmured,  "Par- 
sifal! 

40 


Who  calls  me  by  that  gentle  mystic  name, 
That  once  my  mother  named  me  in  her  dreams  ?  " 

And  the  voice  spake:  "O  tarry,  Parsifal! 
For  I  have  joyous  things  to  tell  to  thee. 
Ye  flowery  children,  leave  him  here  in  peace ; 
He  came  not  here  to  waste  his  time  in  play. 
Go  to  the  wounded  lovers  waiting  you." 

And  so  they  left  him,  singing  as  they  went: 

UST  we  leave  thee,  must  we  sever, 

Oh,  the  parting  pain ! 
Gladly  would  we  love  thee  ever 

And  with  thee  remain! 
Fair  one,  proud  one,  now  farewell. 
Guileless,  foolish  heart,  farewell!" 

And  gaily  laughing  at  the  guileless  youth, 
They  rushed  into  the  palace  and  were  gone. 
And  Parsifal  spake  slowly  to  himself: 
"Was  all  this  nothing  but  a  passing  dream?" 

But  looking  whence  the  other  voice  had  come, 
He  saw  the  leafy  bower  had  opened  wide, 
And  on  a  flowery  couch  a  maiden  lay, 
More  beautiful  than  heart  could  ever  dream, 
Clad  in  some  light  gown  of  Arabian  stuff. 
And  Parsifal,  still  standing  high  aloof, 
Spake  courteously:  "Didst  thou  call  to  me 
And  name  me  who  am  nameless  unto  all?" 

And  she  replied:  "I  named  thee,  guileless 

lad,— 
I  named  thee  by  thine  own  name,  Parsifal. 


F°r  so  thy  father  Gamuret  named  thee, 
Before  he  died  in  that  Arabian  land,— 
Of      Named  thee  before  thine  eyes  had  seen  the  light, 
Darned  thee  with  greeting  in  his  dying  breath. 
Here  have  I  waited  thee  to  tell  thee  all. 
What  drew  thee  here  but  the  desire  to  know?" 

And  Parsifal:  "I  never  saw,  nor  dreamed, 
Such  wondrous  evil  things  as  here  to-day. 
And  art  thou  but  another  wanton  flower 
That  bloomest  in  this  evil  garden  here?" 

But  she:  "O  Parsifal,  thou  foolish  heart! 
Surely  thou  seest  I  am  not  as  these. 
My  home  lies  far  away  in  distant  lands. 
I  did  but  tarry  here  to  wait  for  thee 
And  tell  thee  many  things  about  thyself. 
I  knew  thee  when  thou  wert  a  little  babe, 
Smiling  upon  thy  loving  mother's  breast. 
Thy  earliest  lisp  still  laugheth  in  my  ear. 
And  thy  dear  widowed  mother,  sweet  Hearts- 
rue, 

Although  she  mourned,  smiled  also  in  her  joy 
When  thou  wert  come,  a  laughing  new-born 

love. 

Thy  cradle  was  a  nest  of  softest  moss, 
And  her  caresses  lulled  thee  to  thy  sleep. 
She  watched  thee  lovingly  through  all  thy  sleep 
And  waked  thee  in  the  morning  with  her  tears 
Of  mingled  love  and  pain  for  him  who  died. 
And  that  thy  life  should  know  no  strife  of  men, 
Nor  care  nor  perils  as  thy  sire  had  known, 
Became  her  only  care.  So  in  the  woods 
She  went  with  thee  to  hide  in  quiet  there. 

42 


And  there  she  hoped  no  evil  of  the  world, 
Nor  ways  of  sinful  men  would  come  to  thee. 
Didst  thou  not  hear  her  sorrowful  lament         jn     of 
When  thou  didst  roam  too  far  or  late  from  home? 
Didst  thou  not  hear  her  laughter  in  her  joy 
When  she  would  give  thee  welcome  home 

again,  - 
When  her  dear  arms  were  close  around  thy 

neck 

And  her  sweet  kisses  on  thy  loving  lips? 
But  thou  hast  never  known  what  I  have  known 
Of  those  last  days  of  thy  dear  mother's  love. 
Thou  didst  not  hear  the  secret  sighs  and  moans, 
And  at  the  last  the  tempest  of  her  grief, 
When  after  many  days  thou  didst  not  come, 
And  not  a  trace  of  thee  could  e'er  be  found. 
She  waited  through  the  weary  days  and  nights, 
And  then  her  open  tears  and  cries  were  stilled, 
And  secret  grief  was  eating  at  her  life, 
Until  at  last  her  anguished  heart  did  break, 
And  thy  dear  mother,  gentle  Heartsrue,  died." 

And  Parsifal  in  tenderest  grief  drew  near, 
And  sank  in  sorrow  at  the  maiden's  feet, 
And  cried :  "O  woe  is  me !  What  have  I  done, 
O  sweetest,  dearest,  gentlest  mother  mine, 
That  I  thy  son  shouldst  bring  thee  to  thy  death? 
O  blind  I  was,  and  wretched,  and  accurst 
To  wander  off  and  leave  thy  tender  love. 
O  faithful,  fondest,  fairest  of  all  mothers!" 

And  Parsifal  was  weak  with  pain  and  grief, 
And  gently  did  the  maiden  bend  to  him 
And  wreathe  her  arms  confiding  round  his  neck. 

43 


And  whisper  to  him:  "Since  thou  knowest 

Cempt*      grief, 

infl  Of  fc  me       comfort  to  thy  sorrowing  heart. 

13atSlfaI  ^nc*  ^et  thy  bitter  woe  find  sweet  relief 
In  consolations  of  the  tenderest  love." 

But  Parsifal:  "Yea,  yea,  I  did  forget 
The  mother  that  hath  borne  me  in  her  love. 
And  how  much  else  have  I  forgotten  now! 
What  have  I  yet  remembered  to  my  good? 
A  blindness  seems  to  hold  me  in  its  thrall." 

Then  said  the  maiden:  "Thou  hast  spoken 

true, 

But  full  confession  endeth  sorrow's  pain, 
And  sadness  brings  its  fuller  gift  of  wisdom. 
Thy  heart  has  learned  its  lesson  of  deep  grief; 
Now  it  should  learn  its  lesson  of  sweet  love, 
Such  love  as  burned  in  thine  own  father's  heart 
Whene'er  he  held  dear  Heartsrue  to  his  breast. 
Thy  mother  with  her  flaming  heart  of  love 
Gave  thee  her  life,  —  it  throbs  within  thee 

now,  — 

And  thus  she  sends  her  blessing  from  above, 
And  gives  to  thee  this  sweetest  kiss  of  love." 

And  at  the  words  she  held  him  in  her  arms, 
And  pressed  upon  his  lips  a  fervent  kiss. 

Then  there  was  silence,  deep  and  terrible, 
As  if  the  destiny  of  all  the  world 
Hung  in  the  balance  of  that  fervent  kiss. 
But  still  she  held  him  in  her  clinging  arms. . . . 
Then  Parsifal,  as  if  the  kiss  had  stung 
His  being  into  horror  of  new  pain, 

44 


Sprang  up  with  anguish  in  his  pallid  face,  — 
His  hands  held  tight  against  his  throbbing 

heart,  in  ft  f\f 

As  if  to  stifle  some  great  agony,  — 
And  at  the  last  he  cried  with  voice  of  pain: 
"Amfortas!  O  Amfortas!  O  Amfortas! 
I  know  it  now!  The  Spear- wound  in  thy  side! 
It  burns  my  heart!  It  sears  my  very  soul! 
O  grief  and  horror  in  my  being's  depth ! 
O  misery!  O  anguish  beyond  words! 
The  wound  is  bleeding  here  in  mine  own  side !" 

And  as  the  maiden  watched  him  in  her  fear, 
He  spake  again  in  fierce  and  awful  strain: 
"Nay,  this  is  not  the  Spear-wound  in  my  side! 
There  let  the  life-blood  flow  itself  to  death ! 
For  this  is  fire  and  flame  within  my  heart 
That  sways  my  senses  in  delirium,  — 
The  awful  madness  of  tormenting  love ! 
Now  do  I  see  how  all  the  world  is  stirred, 
Tossed  and  convulsed,  and  often  lost  in  shame 
By  the  terrific  passions  of  the  heart!" 

Then  growing  calmer,  Parsifal  spake  on, 

As  if  an  echo  of  the  wail  of  God 

Over  the  world's  sad  suffering  and  sin : 

"I  seem  to  see  the  blessed  Holy  Cup 

And  in  its  depths  the  Saviour's  blood  doth  glow. 

The  rapture  of  redemption  sweet  and  mild 

Trembleth  afar  through  all  the  universe, 

Except  within  a  sin-polluted  heart. 

Such  is  Amfortas  whom  I  must  redeem. 

Irlreard  the  suffering  Saviour's  sad  lament 

Over  His  sanctuary  shamed  in  sin; 

45 


I  heard  His  words—  'Deliver  me  from  hands 
That  have  profaned  the  holiest  with  guilt!' 
Of       So  rang  the  words  within  my  very  soul. 
^e*  *»  forgetting  what  my  Lord  had  said, 
Have  wandered  off  in  boyish  foolishness.  . . . 
O  Lord,  behold  my  sorrow  at  Thy  feet ! 
Have  mercy  on  me,  blest  Redeemer  mine, 
And  show  me  how  my  sin  can  be  atoned!" 

Then  came  the  maiden  near  in  trembling  way, 

As  if  her  wonder  was  to  pity  turned, 

And  spake:  "My  noble  knight,  fling  off  this 

spell! 
Look  up,  and  this  heart's  love  shall  comfort 

thee!" 

But  Parsifal  with  fixed  look  answered  her: 
"Ah,  woman,  now  I  know  thee  who  thou  art. 
Thy  voice  it  was  that  pleaded  with  Amfortas ; 
Thine  eye  that  smiled  away  his  peace  of  heart ; 
Thy  lips  that  tempted  him  to  taste  of  sin ; 
This  same  white  throat  was  bending  over  him ; 
This  proudly  tossing  head;  these  laughing 

curls ; 

So  these  fair  arms  were  winding  round  his  neck ; 
And  every  feature  soft  in  flattery; 
When  thou  didst  bring  him  agony  untold, 
And  stole  his  soul's  salvation  with  thy  kiss! 
Out  and  away,  destroyer  of  men's  souls! 
Take  thy  pernicious  wiles  and  get  thee  gone!" 

But  Kundry— for 'twas  she— cried  out  in  grief: 
"O  heart,  that  feelest  for  Amfortas'  woe, 
Hast  thou  no  feeling  for  my  dire  distress? 
Thou  earnest  here  to  save  the  King  from  sin, 

46 


Why  not  save  me  and  bring  me  my  redemption? 

Through  endless  ages  I  have  waited  thee,  — 

For  thou  dost  seem  to  me  a  very  savior, 

Like  Him  whom  long  ago  I  did  revile.  10at8ifal 

0  that  thou  knewest  my  story  and  the  curse 
Which  waking,  sleeping,  joyous,  or  in  woe, 
Brings  me  forth  sorrow  and  a  deep  despair. 
This  is  my  story.  Once  I  saw  the  Lord 

In  those  sad  days  of  His  sad  earthly  life, 
For  in  a  previous  existence  I 
Was  also  living  in  fair  Galilee; 
These  eyes  did  see  Him  on  the  dolorous  way 
That  led  His  sorrowing  feet  to  Calvary. 
And  in  light  scorn,  I  laughed  at  Him.  ...  I 
laughed." 

And    when    she    spake    these    words  —  "I 

laughed" - 

She  stopped  in  pain  and  for  an  awful  moment 
Her  deed  spake  in  the  silence,  horror-stricken. 
And  Parsifal  deep  shuddered  at  the  word, 
But  she  spake  on : "  I  laughed  at  Him.  Whereat 
He  looked  at  me.  Ah!  ne'er  shall  I  forget! .  . . 
And  now  forever  am  I  seeking  Him, 
From  age  to  age  and  e'en  from  world  to  world, 
To  stand  once  more  before  Him  in  contrition. 
Sometimes  His  eye  doth  seem  to  glance  on  me, 
And  then  accursed  laughter  seizes  me, 
And  I  am  ready  for  the  deeds  of  Hell. 

1  laugh  and  laugh,  but  never  can  I  weep. 
I  wander  storming,  raving,  but  no  tears. 
The  night  of  madness  holds  me,  but  no  tears. 
O  could  I  weep,  I  know  I  would  be  saved. 
Be  pitiful,  and  be  a  savior  to  me! 

47 


} 


For  thee,  like  Him,  I  have  derided  oft. 
Now  do  I  come  to  thee  with  heart  of  love ; 
Let  me  but  rest  upon  thy  breast  and  weep. 
Take  me  but  *°  thyself  for  one  short  hour, 
And  thou  shalt  save  eternity  for  me, 
And  in  my  tears  my  sin  shall  be  atoned!" 

But  Parsifal:  "Eternity  were  lost 

For  both  of  us,  if  even  for  an  hour 

I  yielded  to  the  sin  of  loving  thee, 

And  in  that  hour  forgot  my  holy  mission. 

For  I  am  also  sent  to  save  thy  soul 

And  to  deliver  thee  from  curse  of  lust. 

The  love  that  burns  in  thee  is  only  lust. 

Between  that  and  the  pure  love  of  true  hearts 

There  yawns  abyss  like  that  'twixt  Heaven  and 

Hell; 

Nor  can  the  foul  fount  e'er  be  closed  in  thee, 
Until  the  pure  fount  shall  be  opened  wide; 
Nor  can  thy  sinful  heart  be  ever  saved 
By  heavy  sorrow  and  much  agony ; 
Nor  e'en  by  service  rendered  unto  others; 
Only  one  way  can  save  thy  guilty  soul  — 
Only  by  giving  all  to  Christ's  dear  love. 
The  curse  that  rests  upon  the  brotherhood 
Is  something  different  by  another's  sin. 
They  pine  and  languish  for  the  Holy  Grail, 
And  yet  they  know  the  wondrous  fount  of  life. 
But  thou!  what  wouldst  thou  do  to  save  thy 

soul? 

O  misery!  O  false  and  daring  deed! 
Thou  wouldst  see  rest  and  Heaven's  holy  peace, 
By  way  of  Hell,  and  death's  eternal  night!" 

Then  Kundry  cried  in  wildest  ecstasy : 
48 


"And  hath  a  single  kiss  from  me  conveyed 

Such  boundless  knowledge  to  thine  eager  soul, 

And  given  unto  thee  a  world- wide  vision? 

O  let  my  perfect  love  embrace  thy  heart,  10atfilfal 

And  it  shall  quicken  thee  to  godlike  power! 

Deliver  sin-lost  souls !  It  is  thy  work ! 

Stand  as  a  god  revealed !  It  is  thy  right ! 

Take  thou  my  love,  and  take  this  godlike  power, 

And  let  me  perish!  Thou  art  all  to  me!" 

Then  Parsifal:  "I  offer  thee  deliverance, 
But  not  in  this  way,  impious  one." 

But  Kundry:  "Let  me  love  thee,  mydivineone! 
This  the  deliverance  I  ask  of  thee." 

And  Parsifal:  "Love  and  deliverance 
Shall  come  to  thee  in  truest,  noblest  way, 
If  thou  wilt  guide  me  to  Amfortas  now." 

Then  Kundry  into  maddened  fury  broke, 
And  cried :  "  No,  never  shalt  thou  find  the  King. 
Let  the  doomed  King  go  to  his  desperate 

shame. 

Ah!  hapless  wretch  whom  I  derided  laughing, 
He  fell  at  last  by  his  own  sacred  Spear." 

Then  Parsifal :  "The  King  was  brave  and  good. 
Who  dared  to  wound  him  with  the  sacred 
Spear?" 

And  Kundry  answered : "  He  has  wounded  him ! 
He  who  can  put  my  laughter  into  flight! 
He  who  enslaves  me  to  his  utter  will! 
His  spell  is  on  me  and  doth  give  me  might. 

49 


Yea,  and  the  Spear  shall  also  thrust  thee 

through, 
Of        If  thou  wilt  pity  that  poor  craven's  fate! 

°  Parsifal»  Prav  &ive  to  me  thv  P^1 

Let  but  one  single  hour  be  mine  and  thine, 

And  then  thou  shalt  be  guided  as  thou  wilt!" 

And  as  she  spake,  she  sought  to  hold  him  fast, 
But  off  he  thrust  her  with  the  last  fierce  words : 
"Unhand  me,  wretched  woman!  Be  ye  gone!" 

And  Kundry  beat  her  breast  and  cried  in  rage: 
"Hither,  ye  powers  of  darkness!  Hither,  help ! 
Seize  on  the  caitiff  who  defies  my  will ! 
Guard  ye  the  ways,  and  ward  the  passage  there ! 
Ah,  Parsifal,  if  thou  shouldst  fly  from  hence 
And  learn  the  ways  through  all  the  weary  world, 
The  one  Way  that  thou  seekest  to  the  King— 
That  thou  shalt  never  find !  So  have  I  sworn ! 
So  do  I  curse  all  pathways  and  all  courses 
That  lead  thee  from  me.  Wander,  then,  I  say! 
Wander  forever,  but  the  King  find  never ! 
I  give  thee  up  to  Klingsor  as  thy  guide,  — 
Klingsor  my  royal  Lord  and  magic  Master." 

And  scarce  the  words  had  left  her  cursing  lips, 
Than  Klingsor's  ugly  form  was  on  the  wall. 
In  his  black  hands  he  swung  the  sacred  Spear 
And  cried:  "Halt  there,  thou  cursed  guileless 

One! 
Feel  thou  the  keenness  of  thy  Master's  Spear !" 

With  that,  he  hurled  it  full  at  Parsifal ; 
But  miracle  of  miracles!  it  stopped 
Above  the  head  of  Parsifal,  and  there 
50 


It  floated  in  the  radiant  air,  a  glory. 
And  Parsifal,  with  upward  look  and  prayer, 
Grasped  it  and  wielded  with  supremest  joy, 
And  with  it  marked  upon  the  air,  the  cross; 

And  cried:  "This  sign  of  holy  cross  I  make, 
And  ban  thy  cursed  magic  evermore. 
And  as  it  soon  shall  heal  the  burning  wound, 
So  may  it  wound  thy  power  to  utter  wreck!" 

And  as  the  words  of  Parsifal  were  said, 
An  earthquake  shook  the  castle  to  the  ground, 
The  garden  withered  into  desert  waste 
Strewn  with  the  flowers,  faded,  desolate,  — 
And  Kundry,  crying  loud,  fell  to  the  earth. 

So  Parsifal  held  high  the  holy  Spear 

And  left  the  garden-waste  and  broken  tower, 

And  all  the  ruin  of  the  haunts  of  sin, 

But  stood  a  moment  on  the  shattered  walls 

And  looked  at  Kundry  lying  on  the  ground, 

And  spake:  "Thou  knowest  where  we  meet 

again!" 

And  as  he  went,  sad  Kundry  raised  herself 
A  little,  and  looked  after  him. 

O  Kundry! 

Sinful  and  yet  desiring  to  be  helped, 
Enthralled  of  sin,  yet  seeking  after  God ! 
Thou  art  our  human  nature,  after  all,  — 
Strange  contradiction,  mingled  love  and  hate, 
Half  demon  and  half  angel  in  thy  moods! 


PARSIFAL.  PART  III. 


THE  CROWNING  OF  PARSIFAL 

lORNING  was  breaking  in 

the  pleasant  land, 
Where  rising  meadows  full 

of  fragrant  flowers 
Skirt  with  their  beauty  the 

deep  forest  wilds, 
That   lead   to    rocky   cliffs 

among  whose  peaks 
Lies  Monsalvat,  the  castle  of  the  Grail. 

Forth  from  a  hut  that  leans  against  the  rock, 
Close  to  a  woodland  spring,  came  Gurnemanz, 
The  faithful  knight  and  noble  counsellor, 
But  now  a  lonely  hermit  of  the  woods, 
Clad  in  the  sacred  tunic  of  the  Grail, 
Grown  very  old  and  bent,  and  hair  snow-white. 

He  listened  for  awhile,  then  spake:  "What 
moans 

From  yonder  thicket  come?  No  forest  beast 

Doth  utter  cry  so  piteous  and  sad. 

This  holy  morn,  the  holiest  of  the 

Doth  bring  to  Nature  a  deep-thrilling  joy. 

'T  is  only  humankind  that  can  be  sad. 

Ah !  there  again  the  grieving  and  the  moans,  — 

Methinks  I  know  that  sad  despairing  cry. 

These  brambles  I  will  tear  apart  and  see 

What  their  thick  undergrowth  so  well  con- 
ceals. 

Ah!  Here  she  is  again!  The  winter's  thorn 

Has  been  her  grave  these  many  weary  years. 

Wake,  Kundry,  wake !  The  winter  long  is  past ; 

The  spring  has  come !  Awaken  with  the  flowers ! 

55 


J 


How  cold  she  is,  and  rigid  as  the  dead! 
*  could  believe  her  dead,  —  and  yet  I  heard 
Her  groaning  and  her  piteous  moan  erstwhile." 

l?ftt£lfal  And  kneeling  down,  he  chafed  her  hands  and 

face, 

Breathed  on  them  to  awaken  life  again ; 
And  at  the  last  a  tremor  thrilled  her  through. 
In  deep  amaze  she  wakened  from  her  sleep, 
And  opened  her  sad  eyes,  with  startled  cries. 
Long  did  she  gaze  on  aged  Gurnemanz ; 
Then  she  arose,  but   her  whole  mien  was 

changed,  — 

The  wildness  of  her  former  life  was  gone ; 
A  tender  softness  shone  forth  from  her  eyes ; 
A  gentle  bearing  lent  an  added  grace ; 
And  without  word  of  question,  or  of  thanks, 
Away  she  moved  as  if  a  serving-maid. 

Then  Gurnemanz : "  Hast  thou  no  word  for  me  ? 
Are  these  my  thanks,  that  from  the  sleep  of 

death 
I  waked,  j&ee?" 

j  ^r          Kundry  slowly  bent  her  head, 
And    murmured   brokenly  the  words:   "To 

serve,  — 
O  let  me  serve  thee  and  the  Holy  Grail." 

Then  Gurnemanz  again:  "This  were  light 

toil,  - 

For  days  of  saddest  peace  have  come  to  us, 
And  deeds  of  valiant  arms  no  more  are  done. 
A  dark  despair  is  over  Monsalvat; 
No  messengers  are  sent  to  distant  parts 
To  stir  the  hearts  of  fighting  warriors ; 
56 


Like  every  creature  of  the  leafy  woods, 

Each  man  doth  serve  himself  in  daily  needs." 

But  Kundry  had  perceived  the  hermit-hut,        jmr  of 

And  knew  that  she  could  serve  in  little  things; 

And  unto  it  she  went  to  find  some  task. 

And  Gurnemanz  deep  wondered,  and  he  spoke : 
"How  unlike  days  of  yore  her  step  and  way,— 
Grace  in  her  step  and  grace  in  countenance. 
Perchance  God  giveth  grace  to  her  sad  heart. 
Perchance  this  holy  morn  hath  wrought  the 

change. 

O  day  of  boundless  mercy,  't  was  for  this  — 
Her  soul's  salvation  and  another  life— 
That  I  have  wakened  her  from  sleep  of  death! 
See,  with  a  pitcher  comes  she  from  the  hut, 
And  fills  it  at  the  spring! .  .  .  But  who  is  this 
That  now  I  see  approaching  through  the 

woods 

And  drawing  slowly  near  the  holy  spring? 
Yon  knight  is  not  a  brother  of  the  Grail, 
With  all  that  war  accoutrement  of  gloom." 

And  one  drew  near,  a  splendid  armored  knight, 
His  armor  shining  black  as  darkest  night, 
His  helmet  closed,  and  lowered  was  his  spear. 
Forward  he  walked  as  if  he  moved  in  dream, 
As  if  a  servant  of  some  high  emprise, 
Neither  to  right  nor  left  he  turned  his  face, 
But  seated  him  beyond  the  holy  spring. 

And  Gurnemanz  close  watched  him  and  his 

ways 
And  wondered  who  the  splendid  knight  might 

be; 

57 


Then  ventured  near  with  courteous  salute: 
CtOtOn-  "All  hail  to  thee,  sir  knight,  and  welcome  here ! 
Of      A3^  thou  astray,  and  may  I  give  thee  aid?  .  . . 

wol"d  f°r  me>  but  bowing  of  thy  head? 
Perchance  my  lord  is  under  knightly  vow 
To  perfect  silence,  as  my  vows  bind  me 
To  courtesy  and  service.  Therefore  hear 
Where  nowthou  art  and  what  is  due  this  place. 
This  is  a  holy  woods  and  this  a  holy  spring, 
Within  the  domain  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
Where  in  his  armor  none  hath  right  to  come 
With  helmet  closed,  and  shield  and  shining 

spear. 

Besides,  dost  thou  not  know  what  day  this  is? 
Not  know  the  day?  From  whence  then  hast 

thou  come? 

What  heathen  darkness  hath  been  thine  abode 
That  thou  rememberest  not  this  holy  day,— 
The  ever-hallowed  Good-Friday  morn? 
Put  off  thy  heavy  armor,  for  the  Lord, 
Bare  of  defence,  on  this  most  holy  day, 
Did  freely  shed  His  blood  to  save  the  world, 
And  bring  the  time  of  kindness  and  of  peace." 

And  silently,  without  an  answering  word, 
The  stranger  knight  fixed  in  the  ground  his 

spear, 

And  at  its  foot  lay  down  his  shield  and  sword, 
Opened  his  helmet,  placed  it  on  the  ground, 
And  knelt  in  silent  prayer  before  the  spear. 

With  wonder  and  deep  feeling,  Gurnemanz 
Had  watched  the  knight,  and  as  he  saw  him 
pray 

58 


And  saw  the  face  upturned  to  the  light, 

He  knew  him,  and  to  Kundry  softly  spake, 

Who  now  drew  near:  "Thou  knowest  him.  nrr  nf 

'T  is  he 

Who  long  ago  laid  low  the  snow-white  swan,  —  «^ 
He  whom  in  anger  I  thrust  out-of-doors. 
Where  has  he  wandered  since  that  luckless 

day? 

But  look!  Behold  the  spear!  It  is  the  Spear 
For  which  my  eager  heart  has  longed  and 

prayed! 

O  holy  day,  on  which  the  Spear  comes  home! 
O  happy  day  to  which  my  soul  awakes!" 

And  when  the  knight  had  ended  all  his  prayer, 
He  slowly  rose,  and  looked  about  and  saw 
The  aged  hermit,  snowy-crowned  with  age; 
And  suddenly  he  knew  that  kindly  form, 
And  rushed  to  Gurnemanz  with  eager  face, 
And  crying:  "Good  my  friend,  all  hail  to  thee! 
Thank  Heaven  that  I  find  thee  once  again!" 

And  Gurnemanz:  "Dost  thou  remember  me, 
After  so  many  long  and  weary  years, 
And  bent  with  grief  and  care  as  now  I  am, 
And  covered  with  the  clustering  snow  of  age? 
But  tell  me,  what  has  passed  since  last  we  met? 
And  how  didst  thou  come  here,  and  whence, 
and  why?" 

And  Parsifal  —  for  it  was  he  —  replied : 
"Through  error  and  through  sufferings  I  come, 
Through  many  failures  and  through  countless 

woes. 

Thus  was  the  guileless  One  at  last  enlightened, 

59 


And  taught  the  depths  of  pity  and  of  love. 
And  can  &  ^e  *nat  now  tne  trials  are  ended 
Of       A*1^  peace  has  come,  and  holiness  at  last? 

<^>e*    re  *  am  w^m  th*s  k°iy  w°°d, 

And  here  art  thou,  dear  servant  of  the  Grail. 
But,  do  I  err,  this  place  seems  somehow 

changed 

From  what  it  was  in  days  of  yore?  The  life, 
The  joy  seem  to  have  vanished,  and  I  feel 
As  if  a  cloud  hung  over  Monsalvat." 

Then  Gurnemanz :  "Too  true  thine  every  word, 
But  tell  me,  pray,  for  whom  thou  here  dost 
seek?" 

And  with  a  wondrous  light  within  his  eyes, 
Did  Parsifal  with  earnest  words  reply: 
"I  come  to  him  whose  piteous  moans  of  pain 
I  heard  long  years  ago,  nor  understood.  — 
The  guileless  One  went  forth  from  thee  a  boy, 
Impetuous,  fierce,  who  did  not  know  himself; 
He  comes  again  a  man  with  tenderest  pity, 
And  deep  experience  and  heart  enlightened, 
To  be  the  healer  of  the  stricken  King. 
But  long  the  course  by  which  I  learned  the  way, 
And  bitter  all  the  wanderings,  where  sin 
Had  laid  its  snares,  and  sought  to  curse  my 

soul. 

Many  the  perils  and  right  fierce  the  strife, 
Yet  clung  1  to  the  pathway  of  the  right. 
And  at  the  last  I  won  the  sacred  Spear 
By  God's  good  mercy  and  His  boundless  love. 
But  even  with  the  Spear  within  my  hands 
Oft  came  a  fearful  dread  upon  my  heart, 

60 


Lest  I  might  lose  this  treasure  that  He  gave 
Into  my  keeping,  for  never  durst  I  use 
This  sacred  Spear  in  battle-blows  or  strife,  —   , 
It  was  for  healing  wounds,  not  making  them,  —  - 

And  so  in  many  a  fight  I  took  the  wounds 
From  other  weapons,  but  profaned  this  never. 
I  bring  it  home  virgin  and  undefiled, 
And  consecrate  it  to  its  healing  work. 
Thus  does  it  gleam  before  thee,  even  now,  — 
The    wonder-working    power,    the    sacred 
Spear!" 

And  Gurnemanz,  with  joyous  heart,  replied: 
"O  grace  and  glory,  blessed  gift  of  God! 
O  miracle  of  holy  healing  power 
That  thou  hast  brought  us  in  the  sacred  Spear! 
Sir  knight,  if  it  were  once  a  cruel  thing 
That  drove  thee  wandering  in  the  evil  world, 
And  if  it  ever  were  a  curse  to  strive 
In  subtle  snares  and  temptings  manifold, 
Believe  me,  now  the  spell  is  surely  broken. 
Here  thou  art  now  within  the  Grail's  dominion. 
Here  wait  for  thee  an  eager  band  of  knights. 
Ah!  how  they  need  the  blessing  that  thou 

bringest. 
For  since  that  morning  when  thou  first  wert 

here, 

The  sorrow  and  the  anguish  that  thou  heard'st 
Have  grown  until  the  woe  has  covered  all. 
And  King  Amfortas,  soul  and  body  wracked, 
Did  crave  in  desperation  only  death, 
And  so  refused  to  show  the  Holy  Grail. 
No  prayer,  no  sorrow  of  his  brother-knights 
Could  move  him  to  fulfil  his  sacred  trust 

61 


Close  in  its  shrouded  shrine  the  Cup  remained. 
For  King  Amfortas  hopes  that  if  his  eyes 
IFlff  Of       Shall  see  the  Grail  no  more,  that  he  may  die, 
^nc*  w^  k*s  ^e  thus  end  his  bitter  pain. 
The  holy  Supper  also  is  denied  us,  — 
Our  daily  portion  only  common  food. 
Thereby  exhausted  is  our  former  strength. 
No  more  the  cry  for  succor  comes  to  us, 
Nor  call  to  holy  war  from  distant  lands; 
But    pale   and  wretched  wander   forth   the 

knights, 

Hopeless  and  leaderless  in  these  dark  days. 
Here  in  the  forest  I  myself  have  hid, 
In  quiet  waiting  for  the  hour  of  death, 
Already  come  unto  my  warrior-lord, 
The  aged  Titurel.  For  when  no  more 
He  could  behold  the  vision  of  the  Grail, 
Then  did  his  sad  heart  fail  him,  and  he  died." 

And  Parsifal  in  sudden  sorrow  cried : 
"What  have  I  done  to  let  this  curse  go  on? 
Why  have  I  wasted  all  these  precious  years  . 
In  wandering,  while  here  was  deepest  woe? 
Why  did  I  never  see  the  needed  truth 
That  no  repentance  can  assuage  the  grief, 
No  expiation  can  atone  the  wrong, 
Until  another  feels  the  bitter  pain, 
And  takes  it  willingly  to  his  own  heart? 
Here  I  was  chosen  to  redeem  the  wrong, 
And  save  the  anguish  of  the  stricken  King, 
And  yet  how  blind  has  been  my  foolish  heart! 
Can  blindness  mean  impurity  and  sin, 
And  may  it  be  that  I  am  all  deceived,  — 
My  way  all  lost,  my  hopes  forever  gone?" 

62 


And  in  the  bitter  struggle  of  his  soul, 

And  in  the  self-abasement  of  his  heart, 

And  in  the  strong  reaction  that  oft  comes        ing  of 

To  spiritual  natures,  deep  and  fine, 

He  would  have  fallen  helpless  to  the  ground; 

But  Gurnemanz  quick  caught  him  in  his  arms, 

And  led  him  sinking  to  a  grassy  mound, 

And  Kundry  ran  with  water  for  his  brow. 

But  Gurnemanz:  "Not  so.  The  holy  spring 
Shall  now  revive  our  pilgrim's  waning  strength. 
My  heart  sees  noble  work  for  him  to-day. 
A  sacred  mystic  duty  doth  await  him. 
He  shall  be  pure  as  light,  and  all  the  dust 
Of  travel  and  of  error  washed  away!" 

Then  from  his  limbs  they  took  the  mighty 

greaves, 

And  loosed  the  woven  corselet  from  his  side, 
And  bathed  his  feet  and  brought  him  to  himself. 

And  straight  he  asked:  "And  shall  I  see  the 
King?" 

And  Gurnemanz :  "Thou  shalt  behold  the  King 
This  very  day  and  speak  thy  word  to  him. 
The  death-rites  of  mine  aged  warrior-lord, 
The  noble  Titurel,  doth  call  me  to  the  court; 
And  there  again  the  Grail  shall  be  revealed. 
For  King  Amfortas  hath  by  solemn  vow 
Promised  once  more  to  open  up  the  shrine, 
Sworn  to  fulfil  the  long-neglected  office, 
To  sanctify  the  saintly  father's  end, 
And  expiate  Llie  lltte'p'  unnnaf  crime, 
The  added  sin,  that  broke  his  father's  heart." 

63 


Cfte 
Crotom 
ing  of 
Iparsifal 


And  as  he  spoke,  the  kindly  Kundry  bathed 
The  feet  of  Parsifal,  who  looked  at  her 
With  gentle  wonder  and  a  pitying  love, 
And  said:  "So  humbly  hast  thou  washed  my 

feet, 

Perchance  the  good  and  faithful  Gurnemanz 
May  sprinkle  my  poor  head  with  holy  water, 
And  give  my  soul  his  gracious  benediction." 

And  Gurnemanz  took  water  from  the  spring, 
And  sprinkled  Parsifal  in  holy  rite, 
And  uttered  over  him  the  benediction : 
"O  guileless  One,  thrice  blessed  be  and  pure, 
And  free  forever  from  all  care  and  sin!" 

Then  Kundry  from  her  bosom  drew  a  vial, 
A  golden  vial,  full  of  perfumed  oil, 
And  poured  its  soothing  fragrance  on  his  feet 
And  dried  them  with  her  flowing  unbound  hair. 

And  Parsifal  reached  out  and  took  the  vial, 
And  gave  it  unto  Gurnemanz  and  said : 
"This  woman  hath  anointed  these  my  feet; 
Let  now  the  faithful  servant  of  the  Grail, 
And  minister  of  sainted  Titurel, 
Anoint  my  chosen  head  with  holy  oil, 
That  I  may  take  the  office,  as  God  will, 
And  you  to-day  may  greet  me  as  your  King." 

So  Gurnemanz  performed  the  kingly  rite, 
Anointing  Parsifal  with  holy  oil, 
And  laid  the  hands  of  blessing  on  his  head, 
And  said:  "So  came  the  ancient  word  to  us; 
So  with  my  blessing  do  I  greet  thee  now, 


64 


And  hail  thee  as  the  God-elected  King!  Cf)C 

Thou  art  His  guileless  One,  by  pity  'lightened, 
Patient  in  suffering,  and  taught  by  woe.  in  of 

Much  hast  thou  suffered  to  redeem  another; 
God  give  thee  now  the  grace  for  crowning  all." 

Then  Parsifal  took  water  from  the  spring, 
And  came  to  Kundry  kneeling  at  his  feet, 
And  sprinkled  her  with  solemn  mystic  rite, 
And  said:  "This  be  the  first  work  of  my  trust. 
Kundry,  in  Christ's  dear  name  I  sprinkle  thee. 
Be  thou  redeemed  and  holy  evermore!" 

And  in  a  passion  of  rejoicing  tears 
She  kneeled  there  and  her  voice  gave  praise 
to  God. 

And  Parsifal  looked  on  the  fields  and  woods, 
So  fair  and  radiant  in  the  morning  light, 
And  uttered  forth  the  rapture  of  his  heart: 
"How  beautiful  these  morning  meadows  are! 
So  fresh,  so  sweet,  so  radiantly  pure ! 
Full  many  a  flower  in  other  days  I  saw, 
But  full  of  subtle  poison  was  their  breath 
And  they  were  snares  of  baneful  witchery. 
But  these  are  God's  own  blossoms  full  of  grace. 
These  twining  vines  that  burst  with  purple 

bloom, 

These  fragrant  flowers,  so  innocent  and  fair,— 
They  speak  to  me  of  loving  childhood's  days, 
And  tell  me  of  the  boundless  love  of  God." 

Then  Gurnemanz : "  On  fair  Good-Friday  morn, 
All  nature  seems  a-thrill  with  new  delight." 

65 


And  Parsifal:  "Yet  strange  that  it  is  so. 
CtOtDHs     That  darkest  day  of  agony  divine 

Of        Might  well  have  cast  a  pall  of  gloom  o'er  all, 
Plun&eci  a^  Nature  into  deepest  woe." 


"No,  no,"  the  gentle  Gurnemanz  replied, 
"The  Saviour's  work  hath  wrought  a  miracle, 
And  now  the  grateful  tears  of  penitence 
Are  holy  dew  that  falls  upon  the  world, 
And  makes  it  bloom  in  fair  and  lustrous  beauty  ; 
And  all  creation  knows  God's  saving  work, 
And  praises  Him  for  His  redeeming  grace. 
No  more  the  agony  of  that  grim  Cross, 
But  now  the  joy  of  man  redeemed  and  saved, 
Freed  from  the  load  of  sin  by  conquering  faith, 
And  purified  by  Love's  great  sacrifice. 
Each  sprouting  blade  and  meadow-flower  doth 

see 

Something  of  God's  grace  in  the  heart  of  man  ; 
For  as  the  Lord  was  tender  unto  man, 
So  man  in  turn  will  love  God's  flowering  earth. 
The  whole  creation  therefore  doth  rejoice, 
And  every  bird  and  flower  is  full  of  praise, 
And  Nature  everywhere  is  full  of  God, 
And  sweet  has  dawned  this  day  of  innocence." 

Then  Kundry,  with  the  tears  still  in  her  eyes, 
Looked  up  at  Parsifal,  and  soft  he  spake: 
"I  saw  the  hearts  that  mocked  us  fade  away, 
But  love  shall  bloom  eternal  in  God's  grace. 
Blest  tears  that  speak  the  blessing  in  thy  heart. 
But  weep  no  more.  God's  grace  is  full  of  joy,  — 
Smile  with  all  Nature,  joyously  redeemed!" 


66 


And  down  he  bent,  and  on  her  pure  white  brow 
Printed  the  kiss  of  God's  redeeming  love. 


Then  chimed  the  distant  bells,  and  louder  yet  .f 

The  gradual  growing  music  of  sweet  sounds.  fi<flt8IuU 

And  Gurnemanz  :  "The  hour  has  come,  midday. 
Permit  me  now  to  lead  thee  to  the  Grail!" 

And  Parsifal  was  clothed  in  holy  garb,  — 
The  dove-embroidered  mantle  of  the  Grail,  — 
Which  Gurnemanz  had  brought  him  from  the 

hut, 
And  grasped  the  sacred  Spear  and  followed  on. 

Again  they  climbed  the  rocky  passages, 
And  reached  at  last  the  castle's  pillared  hall, 
Crowned  with  the  mighty  dome  of  blazing 

light. 
Slowly  the  knights  in  mourning  garb  marched 

in, 

Bearing  the  corpse  of  saintly  Titurel. 
Slowly  the  servitors  marched  sadly  in, 
Bearing  the  pale  Amfortas  on  his  couch. 
And  going  on  in  front  the  acolytes 
Bore  in  the  Grail  in  heavy  covered  shrine. 
And  as  they  marched,  they  sang  this  solemn 

hymn: 

ERE  do  we  bear  the  Holy  Grail, 

Long  hidden  in  this  shrine  ; 
No  more  its  wondrous  grace  is  seen, 
No  more  its  glories  shine  ! 

"Here  saintly  Titurel  we  bear, 
The  faithful  knight  and  king; 

67 


When  he  no  more  the  Grail  could  see, 
He  died  in  sorrowing ! 

.f  .       "And  here  Amfortas  now  we  bear— 

God  shrive  him  from  the  past; 
For  he  has  sworn  to  do  his  trust 
And  show  the  Grail  at  last!" 

And  suffering  Amfortas  turned  and  groaned, 
And  raised  himself  a  little  on  his  couch, 
And  cried:  "O  woe  is  me!  O  woe  is  me! 
My  tears  are  flowing  from  my  very  heart. 
Would  I  had  died  before  I  saw  this  hour. 
Yet  death  is  mercy  that  I  cannot  hope." 

Then  solemnly  the  knights,  with  sacred  awe, 
Uncovered  saintly  Titurel,  and  looked 
Once  more  upon  that  well-beloved  face, 
And  there  was  sound  of  weeping  everywhere. 
And  sadly  did  Amfortas  speak  the  words: 
"My  father,  blest  among  God's  heroes  ever! 
Thou  before  whom  the  angels  loved  to  bow, 
Forgive  me  for  my  most  unfilial  sin,  — 
I  sought  for  death,  yet  struck  thee  to  the  heart, 
By  holding  back  the  vision  of  the  Grail. 
O  thou  who  now  in  radiance  divine 
Dost  see  the  blest  Redeemer  face  to  face, 
Beseech  for  me  that  when  I  show  the  Grail 
It  may  give  life  anew  to  these  dear  knights  — 
But  death  to  me  —  sweet  death  for  which  I  long. 
O  death,  kind  mercy  of  the  living  God, 
Stifle  this  heart  and  rid  me  of  my  pain ! 
Father,  I  plead  with  thee  to  cry  to  Him: 
'Redeemer,  give  my  son  release  and  peace!"' 

68 


Thereat  the  knights  came  pressing  up  and  Cf)0 

cried: 

"Unveil  the  Grail  and  do  thine  office  now! 
The  death-rite  of  thy  father  doth  demand  it!" 

But  in  a  mad  despair  Amfortas  rose, 
And  wildly  rushed  among  the  startled  knights, 
And  cried:  "No,  no,  I  cannot  do  it  now! 
Death  is  so  near  me,  only  let  me  die ! 
Why  should  I  turn  again  to  dreadful  life? 
Rather  I  plead  with  you  to  slay  me  here ! 
See,  here  I  stand,  the  open  wound  is  here! 
Thus  am  I  poisoned,  here  flows  forth  the  blood ! 
Draw  ye  your  swords  and  plunge  them  to  the 

hilt! 

Kill  both  the  sinner  and  his  awful  pain! 
Then  will  the  Grail  forever  shine  for  you, 
And  blessing  come  to  you  for  evermore!" 

But  all  shrank  back  in  terror  from  the  King, 
Who  stood  in  frenzied  madness  there  alone. 

Then  Parsifal  drew  near,  and  slowly  spake : 
"Only  one  weapon  serves  to  kill  that  pain. 
The  one  that  struck  can  staunch  thy  wound 
again!" 

And  with  the  sacred  Spear  he  touched  the  King. 

And  lo!  a  miracle  of  healing  power!  — 

The  wound  was  staunched  and  a  deep  thrill  of 

love 
Changed  agony  to  rapture  all  divine. 

And  Parsifal  spake  on:  "Thou  art  forgiven. 
Body  and  soul  are  cleansed  by  God's  free  grace, 

69 


Thy  life  for  evermore  shall  happy  be 
Within  the  service  of  the  Holy  Grail. 
Of       **u*  never  more  as  King,  for  I  have  come 
^°  ta^e  *ky  P^ace  as  ^°d  kath  so  decreed. 
Thy  sorrows  shall  be  blessings  unto  thee, 
For  thus  by  pity  was  the  guileless  'lightened, 
And  God's  own  Son  was  perfect  made  by  pain. 
Knights  of  the  Grail,  behold  the  sacred  Spear! 
God  gave  it  me  but  to  restore  to  you!" 

And  all  with  reverent  joy  beheld  the  Spear, 
And  thanked  the  Lord  that  it  had  come  again 
To  bring  the  golden  days  of  health  and  power. 
And  as  they  looked  in  rapture  and  in  awe, 
The  Spear-point  seemed  to  glow  with  holy 

fire 
And  sparkled,  turning  red  like  flowing  blood. 

And  Parsifal  spoke  on:  "O  miracle 
And  marvel  of  the  holy  power  of  God. 
This  sacred  Spear  is  flowing  with  the  blood, 
The  very  blood  of  that  same  wondrous  Saviour, 
That  floweth  in  the  crystal  of  the  Grail. 
The  double  blessing  shall  its  glory  give. 
Open  the  shrine!  Reveal  the  Holy  Grail!" 

And  quick  the  sacred  shrine  was  opened  wide 
And  Parsifal  long  knelt  in  silent  prayer, 
Absorbed  in  holy  rapture  at  the  sight. 

Then  suddenly  the  heavenly  splendor  fell 
And  flamed  and  glowed  within  the  sacred  Cup, 
While  wondrous  glory  flooded  all  the  hall 
And  filled  each  heart  with  deep  and  holy  joy. 

TO 


And  from  the  lofty  dome  a  dove  descended, 
And  hovered  lovingly  o'er  Parsifal. 

Thus  Parsifal  was  crowned  of  God  and  man, 
And  slowly  did  he  lift  the  Holy  Grail, 
The  red  blood  glowing  with  its  wondrous  light, 
And  waved  it  in  the  air  before  the  knights, 
Who  knelt  around  him,  praising  God  on  high. 
And  there  had  Kundry  come  with  new-found 

faith 

And  crept  within  the  splendor  of  the  Grail 
And,  with  its  light  upon  her,  died,  —  redeemed ! 

And  still  did  Parsifal  hold  up  the  Grail, 
Seeming  a  vision  of  the  very  Christ, 
His  crimson  mantle  changed  to  lustrous  white- 
ness. 

His  lips  seemed  speaking  loving  benediction; 
And  marvellous  the  red  glow  of  the  Grail ; 
And  beautiful  the  white  dove  soaring  there. 
While  from  the  heights  the  softest  voices  sang: 

"Highest  wonder!  blest  salvation! 
Praise  the  Lord  for  our  redemption!" 


Cbe 
Proton- 
ing  of 
Parsifal 


THE  END 


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1903 


